1 


THE  LIBRARY 
OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


PEREGRINE'S 
PROGRESS 

By  JEFFERY  FARNOL 


AUTHOR  OF 

'Martin  Conisby's  Vengeance,"  "The  Amateur  Gentle- 
man," "The  Broadway  Highway,"  "Beltane, 
the  Smith,"  "Black  Bartlemys  Treasure," 
"The  Money  Moon,"  etc. 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY 

Publishers  New  York 

Published  by  arrangement  with  Little,   Brown  and  Company 
Printed  in  U.   S.    A. 


Copyright,  19M,  v 
BT  LITTLB,  BKOWI»,  AND  COMPANY* 


All  rights  reserved 

Published  October,  1922 

Reprinted  October,  1922 

Reprinted  December,  1922 


PBIXTTD  i»  rat  Usiro  STATBS  or  AKXSICA 


pfc 


HE  who  hath  Imagination  w  blessed 

or  cursed  with  a  fearful  magic  whereby 

he  may  scale  the  heights  of  Heaven  or 

plumb  the  deeps  of  Hell 


Vlll 


Contents 


CHAPTER 

XIV     In  Which  I  Satisfy  Myself  of  My  Cowardice       98 

XV     Proving  That  a.  Goddess  Is  Wholly  Feminine     104 

XVI     In  Which  I  Begin  to  Appreciate  the  Virtues 

of  the  Chaste  Goddess 109 

XVII     How  We  Set  Out  for  Tonbridge        .      .      .      117 
XVIII     Concerning  the  Grammar  of  a  Goddess        .      124 

XIX     How  and  Why  I  Fought  with  One  Gabbing 

Dick,  a  Peddler 135 

XX     Of  the  Tongue  of  a  Woman  and  the  Feet  of 

a  Goddess 140 

XXI     In  Which  I  Learned  That  I  Am  Less  of  a 

Coward  Than  I  Had  Supposed       .      .      .      148 

XXII     Describing  the  Hospitality  of  One  Jerry  Jar- 
vis,   a   Tinker 152 

XXIII     Discusses  the  Virtues  of  the  Onion  .      .      .      155 

XXIV     How  I  Met  One  Jessamy  Todd,  a  Snatcher 

of  Souls 165 

XXV     Tells  of  My  Adventure*  at  the  Fair  .      .      .      176 
XXVI     The   Ethics  of   Prigging   ......      194 

XXVII     Juno  Versus  Diana 199 

XXVIII     Exemplifying   That   Clothes    Do   Make    the 

Man 208 

XXIX     Tells  of  an  Ominous  Meeting       .      .      .      .     216 

XXX     Of  a  Truly  Memorable  Occasion        .      .      .     224 

XXXI     A  Vereker's  Advice  to  a  Vereker       ...     234 

XXXII  How  I  Made  a  Surprising  Discovery,  Which, 
However,  May  Not  Surprise  the  Reader 
in  the  Least  241 


Contents  ix 

CHAPTER  PAGE 
XXXIII     Of  Two  Incomparable  Things.     The  Voice 

of  Diana  and  Jessamy's  "  Right  "       .      .  24-5 

XXXIV     The  Noble  Art  of  Organ-Playing  .      .      .  250 

XXXV     Of  a  Shadow  in  the  Sun 262 

XXXVI     TeUs  How  I  Met  Anthony  Again  .      .      .  272 

XXXVII     A  Disquisition  on  True  Love     .      .      .      .  281 

XXXVIII     A  Crucifixion        ........  288 

XXXIX     How  I  Came  Home  Again  .     >•     .      *      .  294 

To  THE  READER     ........     >     >      .  301 

BOOK  II  — SHADOW 

I     The  Incidents  of  an  Early  Morning  Walk  .      .  303 

II     Introducing  Jasper  Shrig,  a  Bow  Street  Runner  313 

III  Concerning  a  Black  Postchaise 325 

IV  Of  a  Scarabaeus  Ring  and  a  Gossamer  Veil  .      .  338 
V     Storm  and  Tempest 348 

VI     I  Am  Haunted  of  Evil  Dreams     .....  354 

VII     Concerning  the  Song  of  a  Blackbird  at  Evening  361 

VIII     The  Deeps  of  Hell      T     .......  369 

IX     Concerning  the  Opening  of  a  Door  ....  376 

X     Tells  How  a  Mystery  Was  Resolved       .      .      .  385 

XI     Which  Shows  That  My  Uncle  Jervas  Was  Right, 

After  All 396 

XII     Tells  How  I  Went  Upon  an  Expedition  with  Mr. 

Shrig 400 

To  MY  PATIENT  AND  KINDLY  READER                               ,  410 


x  Contents 

CHAPTER  PAOI 

BOOK  III  — DAWN 

I     Concerning  One  Tom  Martin,  an  Ostler     .      .      .     411 
II     I  Go  to  Find  Diana       .  .      .      .      .      .      .416 

III  Tells  How  I  Found  Diana  and  Sooner  Than  I  De- 

served  420 

IV  I  Wait  for  a  Confession .425 

V     In  Which  We  Meet  Old  Friends       .....     429 

VI     Which,  as  the  Patient  Reader  Sees,  Is  the  Last           437 


EEREGRINE'S  PROGRESS 


PEREGRINE'S   PROGRESS 


ANTE  SCRIPTUM 

THIS  is  the  tale  of  Diana,  the  Gipsy,  the  Goddess,  the 
Woman,  one  in  all  and  all  in  one  and  that  one  so  wonder- 
ful, so  elusive,  so  utterly  feminine  that  I,  being  but  a  man 
and  no  great  student  in  the  Sex,  may,  in  striving  to  set 
her  before  you  in  cold  words,  distort  this  dear  image  out 
of  all  semblance  and  true  proportion. 

Here  and  now  I  would  begin  this  book  by  telling  of 
Diana  as  I  remember  her,  a  young  dryad  vivid  with  life, 
treading  the  leafy  ways,  grey  eyes  a-dream,  kissed  by  sun 
and  wind,  filling  the  woodland  with  the  glory  of  her  sing- 
ing, out-carolling  the  birds. 

I  would  fain  show  her  to  you  in  her  swift  angers  and 
ineffable  tenderness,  in  her  lofty  pride  and  sweet  humility, 
passionate  with  life  yet  boldly  virginal,  fronting  evil 
scornful  and  undismayed,  with  eyes  glittering  bright  as 
her  "  little  churl  "  yet  yielding  herself  a  willing  sacrifice 
and  meekly  enduring  for  Friendship's  sake. 

With  her  should  this  book  properly  commence ;  but  be- 
cause I  doubt  my  pen  (more  especially  at  this  so  early 
stage)  I  will  begin  not  with  Diana  but  with  my  aunt 
Julia,  my  uncle  Jervas,  my  uncle  George  and  my  pain- 
fully conscious  self,  trusting  that,  as  this  narrative  pro- 
gresses, my  halting  pen  may  grow  more  assured  and  my 
lack  of  art  be  atoned  for  by  sincerity.  For  if  any  writer 
or  historian  were  sincere  then  most  truly  that  am  I. 

Therefore  I  set  forth  upon  this  relation  humbly  aware 
of  my  failings,  yet  trusting  those  who  read  will  not  fall 
asleep  over  my  first  ineffectual  chapter  nor  throw  the 
book  aside  after  my  second,  but  with  kind  and  tolerant 
patience  will  bear  with  me  and  read  bravely  on  until,  being 


Ante  Scriptum 


more  at  ray  ease,  I  venture  to  tell  of  Diana's  wonderful 
self. 

And  when  they  shall  come  to  the  final  chapter  of  this 
history  (if  they  ever  do)  may  they  be  merciful  in  their 
j  udgment  of  their  humble  author,  that  is  to  say  this  same 
poor,  ineffectual,  unheroical  person  who  now  subscribes 
himself 

PEREGRINE  VEEEKEE. 


Book  One 
THE  SILENT  PLACES 

CHAPTER  I 

INTRODUCING   MYSELF 

"  NINETEEN  to-3ay,  is  he ! "  said  my  uncle  Jervas,  viewing 
me  languidly  through  his  quizzing-glass.  "How  con- 
foundedly the  years  flit !  Nineteen  —  and  on  me  soul,  our 
poor  youth  looks  as  if  he  hadn't  a  single  gentlemanly 
vice  to  bless  himself  with ! " 

"  Not  one,  Jervas,  my  boy,"  quoth  my  uncle  George, 
shaking  his  comely  head  at  me.  "  Not  one,  begad,  and 
that 's  the  dooce  of  it !  It  seems  he  don't  swear,  he  don't 
drink,  he  don't  gamble,  he  don't  make  love,  he  don't 
even  —  " 

"Don't,  George,"  exclaimed  my  aunt  Julia  in  her 
sternest  tone,  her  handsome  face  flushed,  her  stately  back 
very  rigid. 

"Don't  what,  Julia?" 

"  Fill  our  nephew's  mind  with  your  own  base  masculine 
ideas  —  I  forbid." 

"But  damme — no,  Julia,  no  —  I  mean,  bless  us! 
What's  to  become  of  a  man — what's  a  man  to  do  who 
don't  —  " 

"Cease,  George!" 

"But  he's  almost  a  man,  ain't  he?'* 

"Certainly  not;  Peregrine  is  —  my  nephew — " 

"And  ours,  Julia.  We  are  his  legal  guardians  Be- 
sides —  " 

"  And  set  him  in  my  care  until  he  comes  of  age ! "  re- 
torted my  aunt  defiantly. 


Peregrine's  Progress 


"And  there,  happy  youth,  is  his  misfortune!"  sighed 
my  uncle  Jervas. 

"Misfortune?"  echoed  my  aunt  in  whisper  so  awful 
that  I,  for  one,  nearly  trembled.  "  Misfortune ! "  she 
repeated.  "  Hush !  Silence !  Not  a  word !  I  must  think 
this  over!  Misfortune!" 

In  the  dreadful  pause  ensuing,  I  glanced  half-furtively 
from  one  to  other  of  my  three  guardians ;  at  my  uncle 
Jervas,  lounging  gracefully  in  lu's  chair,  an  exquisite 
work  of  art  from  glossy  curls  to  polished  Hessians;  at 
my  uncle  George,  standing  broad  back  to  the  mantel,  a 
graceful,  stalwart  figure  in  tight-fitting  riding-coat,  buck- 
skins and  spurred  boots ;  at  my  wonderful  aunt,  her  dark 
and  statuesque  beauty  as  she  sat,  her  noble  form  posed 
like  an  offended  Juno,  dimpled  chin  on  dimpled  fist,  dark 
brows  bent  above  long-lashed  eyes,  ruddy  lips  close-set  and 
arched  foot  tapping  softly  beneath  the  folds  of  her  ample 
robe. 

"  His  misfortune ! "  she  repeated  for  the  fourth  time, 
softly  and  as  to  herself.  "And  ever  have  I  striven  to 
be  to  him  the  tender  mother  he  never  knew,  to  stand  in 
place  of  the  father  he  never  saw !  " 

"  I  'm  sure  of  it,  Julia ! "  said  my  uncle  George,  fidget- 
ing with  his  stock. 

"  His  misfortune !  And  I  have  watched  over  him  with 
care  unfailing  —  " 

"Er  —  of  course,  yes — not  a  doubt  of  it,  Julia,"  said 
uncle  George,  fiddling  with  a  coat  button. 

"His  upbringing  has  been  the  passion  of  my  life  — " 

"  I  'm  sure  of  it,  Julia,  your  sweet  and  —  er  —  womanly 
nature  —  " 

"George,  have  the  goodness  not  to  interrupt!"  sighed 
my  aunt,  with  a  little  gesture  of  her  hand.  "I  have 
furthermore  kept  him  segregated  from  all  that  could  in 
any  way  vitiate  or  vulgarise;  he  has  had  the  ablest  tutors 
and  been  my  constant  companion,  and  to-day  —  I  am 
told  —  all  this  is  but  his  misfortune.  Now  and  therefore. 
Sir  Jervas  Vereker,  pray  explain  yourself." 


Introducing  Myself 


"  Briefly  and  with  j  oy,  m'  dear  Julia,"  answered  my 
uncle  Jervas,  smiling  sleepily  into  my  aunt's  fierce  black 
eyes.  "I  simply  mean  that  your  meticulous  care  of  our 
nephew  has  turned  what  should  have  been  an  ordinary 
and  humanly  promising,  raucous  and  impish  hobbledehoy 
into  a  very  precise,  something  superior,  charmingly  prim 
and  modest,  ladylike  young  fellow  — 

"  Ladyli  —  ! "  My  stately  aunt  came  as  near  gasp- 
ing as  was  possible  in  such  a  woman,  then  her  stately 
form  grew  more  rigidly  statuesque,  her  mouth  and  chin 
took  on  that  indomitable  look  I  knew  so  well,  and  she 
swept  the  speaker  with  the  blasting  fire  of  her  fine  black 
eyes.  "  Sir  Jervas  Vereker ! "  she  exclaimed  at  last,  and 
in  tones  of  such  chilling  haughtiness  that  I,  for  one,  felt 
very  like  shivering.  There  fell  another  awful  silence,  aunt 
Julia  sitting  very  upright,  hands  clenched  on  the  arms 
of  her  chair,  dark  brows  bent  against  my  uncle  Jervas, 
who  met  her  withering  glance  with  all  his  wonted  im- 
passivity, while  my  uncle  George,  square  face  slightly 
flushed,  glanced  half-furtively  from  one  to  the  other 
and  clicked  nervous  heels  together  so  that  his  spurs 
jingled. 

"  George !  "  exclaimed  my  aunt  suddenly.  "  In  heaven's 
name,  cease  rattling  your  spurs  as  if  you  were  in  your 
native  stables." 

"  Certainly,  m'  dear  Julia ! "  he  mumbled,  and  stood 
motionless  and  abashed. 

:*  'Pon  me  life,  Julia,"  sighed  my  uncle  Jervas,  "  I  swear 
the  years  but  lend  you  new  graces ;  time  makes  you  but  the 
handsomer —  " 

"  Begad,  but  that 's  the  very  naked  truth,  Julia !  "  cried 
uncle  George.  "  You  grow  handsomer  than  ever." 

'*  Tush ! "  exclaimed  my  aunt,  yet  her  long  lashes 
drooped  suddenly. 

"  Your  hair  is  —  "  said  uncle  Jervas. 

"Wonderful!"  quoth  uncle  George.  "Always  was, 
begad ! " 

"  Tchah !  "  exclaimed  my  aunt. 


Peregrine's  Progress 


"  Your  hair  is  as  silky,"  pursued  my  uncle  Jervas,  a  as 
abundant  and  as  black  as  —  " 

"As  night!"  added  uncle  George. 

"  A  fiddlestick ! "  exclaimed  my  aunt. 

"A  raven's  wing!"  pursued  my  uncle  Jervas.  "Time 
hath  not  changed  the  wonder  of  it  —  " 

"  Phoh !  "  exclaimed  my  aunt.  -  — 

"  Devil  a  white  hair  to  be  seen,  Julia ! "  added  uncle 
George. 

"While  as  for  myself,  Julia,"  sighed  my  uncle  Jervas, 
"  my  fellow  discovered  no  fewer  than  four  white  hairs  above 
my  right  ear  this  morning,  alas !  And  look  at  poor 
George  —  as  infernally  grey  as  a  badger." 

"I  think,"  said  my  aunt,  leaning  back  in  her  chair, 
"I  think  we  were  discussing  my  nephew  Peregrine  — " 

"  Our  mutual  ward  —  precisely,  Julia." 

"  Aye,"  quoth  uncle  George,  "  we  are  legal  guardians 
of  the  lad  and  —  " 

"  Fie,  George ! "  cried  aunt  Julia.  "  A  vulgar  word,  an 
unseemly  word ! " 

"Eh?    Word,  Julia?    What  word?" 

"  *  Lad '  !  "  exclaimed  my  aunt,  frowning.  "  A  most 
obnoxious  word,  applicable  only  to  beings  with  pitchforks 
and  persons  in  sleeved  waistcoats  who  chew  straws  and 
attend  to  horses.  Lads  pertain  only  to  your  world! 
Peregrine  never  was,  will,  or  could  be  such  a  thing!" 

"  Good  God ! "  exclaimed  my  uncle  George  feebly,  and 
groped  for  his  short,  crisp-curling  whisker  with  fumbling 
fingers. 

"  Peregrine  never  was,  will,  or  could  be  such  a  thing ! " 
repeated  my  aunt  in  a  tone  of  finality. 

"Then  what  the  dev  — " 

"George!" 

"I  should  say  then  —  pray,  Julia,  what  the — hum 
—  ha  — is  he?" 

"Being    my   nephew,    he    is    a   young   gentleman,    of 
course ! " 
N   **  Ha ! "  quoth  my  uncle  George. 


Introducing  Myself 


*  Hum ! "  sighed  my  uncle  Jervas.  "  A  gentleman  is 
usually  a  better  man  for  having  been  a  lad!  As  to  our 
nephew  —  " 

"Pray,  Jervas,"  said  aunt  Julia,  lifting  white  im- 
perious hand,  "suffer  me  one  word,  at  least;  in  justice 
to  myself  I  can  sit  mute  no  longer  —  " 

"Mute?"  exclaimed  uncle  George,  grasping  whisker 
again.  "  Mute,  were  you,  Julia ;  oh,  begad,  why  then  —  " 

"  George  —  silence  —  I  plead ! "  said  my  aunt,  and 
folding  her  white  hands  demurely  on  her  knee  gazed  down 
at  them  wistfully  beneath  drooping  lashes. 

"  Proceed,  Julia,"  quoth  my  uncle  Jervas,  "  your  voice 
is  music  to  my  soul  —  " 

"Mine  too!"  added  uncle  George,  "mine  too,  dooce 
take  me  if  't  is  n't ! " 

MY  AUNT  (her  voice  soft  and  plaintively  sad).  For 
nineteen  happy  years  I  have  devoted  myself  to  caring 
for  my  nephew  Peregrine,  body  and  mind.  My  every 
thought  has  been  of  him  or  for  him,  my  love  has  been  his 
shield  against  discomforts,  bodily  ailments  and  ills  of  the 
mind  — 

MY  UNCLE  JERVAS.  And  precisely  there,  Julia,  lies 
his  happy  misfortune.  You  have  thought  for  him  so 
effectively  he  has  had  small  scope  to  think  for  himself; 
cared  for  him  so  sedulously  that  he  shall  hardly  know 
how  to  take  care  of  himself;  sheltered  him  so  rigorously 
that,  once  removed  from  the  sphere  of  your  strong  per- 
sonality, he  would  be  pitifully  lost  and  helpless.  In  short, 
he  is  suffering  of  a  surfeit  of  love,  determined  tenderness 
and  pertinacious  care  —  in  a  word,  Julia,  he  is  over- 
Juliaized ! 

MY  UNCLE  GEORGE  (a  little  diffidently,  and  jingling  his 
spurs).  B'gad,  and  there  ye  have  it,  sweet  soul —  d*  ye 
see  — 

MY  AUNT  (smiting  him  speechless  with  flashing  eye). 
I  —  am — not  your  sweet  soul.  And  as  for  poor  dear 
Peregrine  — 

MY  UNCLE  JERVAS.     The  poor  youth  is  become  alto- 


8  Peregrine's  Progress 

gether  too  preternaturally  dignified,  too  confounded  sober, 
solemn  and  sedate  for  this  mundane  sphere;  he  needs 
more  — 

UNCLE  GEORGE.    Brimstone  and  the  devil! 

MY  AUNT  (freezingly).     George  Vereker! 

UNCLE  JERVAS.     Wholesome  ungentleness. 

UNCLE  GEOEGE  (hazarding  the  suggestion).  An  oc- 
casional black  eye  —  bloody  nose,  d'ye  see,  Julia,  healthy 
bruise  or  so  — 

MY  AUNT.    Mr.  Vereker ! 

UNCLE  GEORGE  (groping  for  whisker).  What  I  mean 
to  say  is,  Julia,  a  —  ha  —  hum!  (Subsides.) 

UNCLE  JERVAS.  George  is  exactly  right,  Julia.  Our 
nephew  is  well  enough  in  many  ways,  I  '11  admit,  but  cor- 
poreally he  is  no  Vereker ;  he  fills  the  eye  but  meanly  — 

MY  AUNT  (in  tones  of  icy  gloom).  Sir  Jervas  —  ex- 
plain ! 

UNCLE  JERVAS.  Well,  my  dear  Julia,  scan  him,  I  beg; 
regard  him  with  an  observant  eye,  the  eye  not  of  a  doting 
woman  but  a  dispassionate  critic  —  examine  him ! 

(Here  I  sank  lower  in  my  great  chair.) 

MY  AUNT.  If  Peregrine  is  not  so  —  large  as  your  ro- 
bust self  or  so  burly  as  —  monstrous  George,  am  I  to 
blame  ? 

MY  UNCLE  JERVAS.  The  adjective  robust  as  applied  to 
myself  is,  I  think,  a  trifle  misplaced.  I  suggest  the  word 
"  elegant "  instead. 

MY  AUNT  (patient  and  sighful).  What  have  you  to 
remark,  George  Vereker? 

UNCLE  GEORGE  (measuring  me  with  knowing  eye).  I 
should  say  he  would  strip  devilish  —  I  mean  —  uncom- 
monly light  — 

MY  AUNT  (in  murmurous  horror).  Strip?  An  odious 
suggestion !  Only  ostlers,  pugilists,  and  such  as  yourself, 
George,  would  stoop  to  do  such  a  thing !  Oh,  monstrous  ! 

UNCLE  GEORGE  (pathetically).  No,  no,  Julia  m*  dear, 
you  mistake ;  to  "  strip  "  is  a  term  o'  the  "  fancy "  — 
milling,  d*  ye  see  —  fibbing  is  a  very  gentlemanly  art, 


Introducing   Myself 


assure  you ;  I  went  three  rounds  with  the  **  Camberwell 
Chicken  "  before  I  — 

MY  AUNT  (scornfully).  Have  done  with  your  chickens, 
sir  — 

UNCLE  GEORGE  (ruefully).  B'gad,  he  nearly  did  for 
me  —  naked  mauleys,  you  '11  understand.  In  — 

MY  AUNT  (covers  ears).  Horrors!  this  ribaldry, 
George  Vereker! 

UNCLE  GEORGE.  O  Lord!  (Sinks  into  chair  and  gloomy 
silence.) 

MY  UNCLE  JERVAS  (rising  gracefully,  taking  aunt 
Julia's  indignant  hands  and  kissing  them  gallantly). 
George  is  perfectly  right,  dear  soul.  Our  Peregrine  re- 
quires a  naked  mauley  (clenches  Aunt  Julia's  white  hand 
into  a  fist)  —  something  like  this,  only  bigger  and  harder 
—  applied  to  his  torso  — 

UNCLE  GEORGE.  Of  course,  above  the  belt,  you  '11  under- 
stand, Julia !  Now  the  Camberwell  Chicken  — 

MY  UNCLE  JERVAS.  Applied,  I  say,  with  sufficient 
force  to  awake  him  to  the  stern  —  shall  we  say  the  harsh 
realities  of  life. 

AUNT  JULIA.    Life  can  be  real  without  sordid  brutality. 

UNCLE  JERVAS.  Not  unless  one  is  blind  and  deaf,  or 
runs  away  and  hides  from  his  fellows  like  a  coward;  for 
brutality,  alas,  is  a  very  human  attribute  and  slumbers 
more  or  less  in  each  one  of  us,  let  us  deny  it  how 
we  will. 

UNCLE  GEORGE.  True  enough,  Jervas,  and  as  you'll 
remember  when  I  fought  the  "  Camberwell  Chicken,"  my 
right  ogle  being  closed  and  claret  flowing  pretty  freely, 
the  crowd  afraid  of  their  money  — 

MY  AUNT  (coldly  determined).  Enough!  My  nephew 
shall  never  experience  such  horrors  or  consort  with  such 
brutish  ruffians. 

UNCLE  GEORGE.    Then  he  '11  never  be  a  man,  Julia. 

MY  AUNT.  Nature  made  him  that.  I  intend  him  for  a 
poet. 

Here  my  uncle  George  rose  up,   sat  down   and   rose 


i  o  Peregrine's   Progress 

again,  striving  for  speech,  while  uncle  Jervas  smiled  and 
dangled  his  eyeglass. 

MY  UNCLE  GEORGE  (breathing  heavily).  That's  done 
it,  Jervas,  that's  one  in  the  wind.  A  poet!  Poor,  poor 
lad. 

MY  AUNT  (triumphantly).  He  has  written  some 
charming  sonnets,  and  an  ode  to  a  throstle  that  has  been 
much  admired. 

UNCLE  GEOEGE   (faintly).     Ode!     B'gad!     Throstle! 

MY  UNCLE  JERVAS.  He  trifles  with  paints  and  brushes, 
too,  I  believe? 

MY  AUNT.  Charmingly !  He  may  dazzle  the  world  with 
a  noble  picture  yet;  who  knows? 

MY  UNCLE  JERVAS.  Oh,  my  dear  Julia,  who  indeed! 
He  has  a  pronounced  aversion  for  most  manly  sports,  I 
believe:  horses,  for  instance  — 

MY  AUNT.  He  rides  with  me  occasionally,  but  as  for 
your  inhuman  hunting  and  racing  —  certainly  not ! 

UNCLE  GEORGE.  And  before  we  were  his  age,  I  had 
broken  my  collarbone  and  you  had  won  the  county  steeple- 
chase from  me  by  a  head,  Jervas.  Ha,  that  was  a  race, 
lad,  never  enjoyed  anything  more  unless  it  was  when  the 
"  Camberwell  Chicken  "  went  down  and  could  n't  come  up 
to  time  and  the  crowd  — 

AUNT  JULJA.  You  were  both  so  terribly  wild  and 
reckless ! 

UNCLE  JERVAS.  No,  my  sweet  woman,  just  ordinary 
healthy  young  animals. 

AUNT  JULIA.    My  nephew  is  a  young  gentleman. 

UNCLE  GEORGE.    Ha! 

UNCLE  JERVAS.  H'm !  A  gentleman  should  know  how 
to  use  his  fists  —  there  is  Sir  Peter  Vibart,  for  instance. 

UNCLE  GEORGE.     And  to  shoot  straight,  Julia. 

UNCLE  JERVAS.  And  comport  himself  in  the  society  of 
the  Sex.  Yet  you  keep  Peregrine  as  secluded  as  a  young 
nun. 

MY  AUNT.     He  prefers  solitude.    Love  will  come  later. 

UNCLE    JERVAS.      Most    unnatural !      Before    I    was 


Introducing  Myself  n 

Peregrine's  age  I  had  been  head  over  ears  in  and  out  of 
love  with  at  least  — 

MY  AUNT.    Reprobate ! 

UNCLE  GEOEGE.  So  had  I,  Julia.  There  was  Mary  — 
or  was  it  Ann  —  at  least  if  it  wasn't  Ann  it  was  Betty 
or  Bessie;  anyhow,  I  know  she  was  — 

AUNT  JULIA.    Rake ! 

UNCLE  JEEVAS.  Remember,  we  were  very  young  and 
had  never  been  privileged  to  behold  the  Lady  Julia 
Conroy  — 

UNCLE  GEOEGE.    Begad,  Julia  —  and  there  y'  have  it! 

MY  AUNT.     We  were  discussing  my  nephew,  I  think! 

MY  UNCLE  JEEVAS.  True,  Julia,  and  I  was  about  to 
remark  that  since  you  refuse  to  send  him  up  to  Oxford  or 
Cambridge,  the  only  chance  I  see  for  him  is  to  quit  your 
apron  strings  and  go  out  into  the  world  to  find  his 
manhood  if  he  can. 

My  aunt  turned  upon  the  speaker,  handsome  head  up- 
flung,  but,  ere  she  could  speak,  the  grandfather  clock  in 
the  corner  rang  the  hour  in  its  mellow  chime.  Thereupon 
my  aunt  rose  to  her  stately  height  and  reached  out  to  me 
her  slender,  imperious  hand. 

"  Peregrine,  it  is  ten  o'clock.  Good  night,  dear  boy ! " 
said  she  and  kissed  me.  Thereafter,  having  kissed  the 
hand  that  clasped  mine,  I  bowed  to  my  two  uncles  and 
went  dutifully  to  bed. 


CHAPTER  II 

TELLS  HOW  AND  WHY   I   SET   FORTH   UPON   THE  QUEST 
IN    QUESTION 

"LADYLIKE!"  said  I  to  myself,  leaning  forth  from  my 
chamber  window  into  a  fragrant  summer  night  radiant 
with  an  orbed  moon.  But  for  once  I  was  heedless  of  the 
ethereal  beauty  of  the  scene  before  me  and  felt  none  of 
that  poetic  rapture  that  would  otherwise  undoubtedly 
have  inspired  me,  since  my  vision  was  turned  inwards 
rather  than  out  and  my  customary  serenity  hatefully 
disturbed. 

"  Ladylike ! " 

Thus,  all  unregarding,  I  breathed  the  incense  of  flowery 
perfumes  and  stared  blindly  upon  the  moon's  splendour, 
pondering  this  hateful  word  in  its  application  to  myself. 
And  gradually,  having  regard  to  the  manifest  injustice 
and  bad  taste  of  the  term,  conscious  of  the  affront  it  im- 
plied, I  grew  warm  with  a  righteous  indignation  that  mag- 
nified itself  into  a  furious  anger  against  my  two  uncles. 

"  Damn  them !  Damn  them  both !  "  exclaimed  I  and,  in 
that  moment,  caught  my  breath,  shocked,  amazed,  and  not 
a  little  ashamed  at  this  outburst,  an  exhibition  so  ex- 
tremely foreign  to  my  usually  placid  nature. 

*  To  swear  is  a  painful  exhibition  of  vulgarity,  and 
passion  uncontrolled  lessens  one's  dignity  and  is  a  sign 
of  weakness.' 

Remembering  this,  one  of  my  wonderful  aunt's  incon- 
trovertible maxims,  I  grew  abashed  (as  I  say)  by  reason 
of  this  my  deplorable  lapse.  And  yet: 

«<  Ladylike!'" 

I  repeated  the  opprobrious  epithet  for  the  third  time 
and  scowled  up  at  the  placid  moon. 

And  this,  merely  because  I  had  a  shrinking  horror  of 


Why  I  Set  Forth  upon  the  Quest    1 3 

all  brutal  and  sordid  things,  a  detestation  for  anything 
smacking  of  vulgarity  or  bad  taste.  To  me,  the  subtle 
beauty  of  line  or  colour,  the  singing  music  of  a  phrase, 
were  of  more  account  than  the  reek  of  stables  or  the 
whooping  clamour  and  excitement  of  the  hunting-field, 
my  joys  being  rather  raptures  of  the  soul  than  the  more 
material  pleasures  of  the  flesh. 

"  And  was  it,"  I  asked  myself,  "  was  it  essential  to  ex- 
change buffets  with  a  '  Camberwell  Chicken,'  to  shoot  and 
be  shot  at,  to  spur  sweating  and  unwilling  horses  over 
dangerous  fences  —  were  such  things  truly  necessary  to 
prove  one's  manhood?  Assuredly  not!  And  yet  — 
"'Ladylike!'" 

Moved  by  a  sudden  impulse  I  turned  from  the  lattice 
to  the  elegant  luxuriousness  of  my  bedchamber,  its  soft 
carpets,  rich  hangings  and  exquisite  harmonies  of  colour ; 
and  coming  before  the  cheval  mirror  I  stood  to  view  and 
examine  myself  as  I  had  never  done  hitherto,  surveying 
my  reflection  not  with  the  accustomed  eyes  of  Peregrine 
Vereker,  but  rather  with  the  coldly  appraising  eyes  of 
a  stranger,  and  beheld  this: 

A  youthful,  slender  person  of  no  great  stature,  clothed 
in  garments  elegantly  unostentatious. 

His  face  grave  and  of  a  saturnine  cast  —  but  the  fea- 
tures fairly  regular. 

His  complexion  sallow  —  but  clear  and  without  blemish. 

His  hair  rather  too  long  —  but  dark  and  crisp-curled. 

His  brow  a  little  too  prominent  —  but  high  and  broad. 

His  eyes  dark  and  soft — but  well-opened  and  direct. 

His  nose  a  little  too  short  to  please  me  —  but  other- 
wise well-shaped. 

His  mouth  too  tender  in  its  curves — but  the  lips  close 
and  firm. 

His  chin  too  smoothly  rounded,  at  a  glance  —  but  when 
set,  looks  determined  enough. 

His  whole  aspect  not  altogether  unpleasing,  though  I 
yearned  mightily  to  see  him  a  few  inches  taller. 

Thus  then  I  took  dispassionate  regard  to,  and  here  as 


14  Peregrine's   Progress 

dispassionately  set  down,  my  outer  being ;  as  to  my  inner, 
that  shall  appear,  I  hope,  as  this  history  progresses. 

I  was  yet  engaged  on  this  most  critical  examination  of 
my  person  when  I  was  interrupted  by  the  sound  of  foot- 
steps on  the  flagged  terrace  beneath  my  open  window  and 
the  voices  of  my  two  uncles  as  they  passed  slowly  to  and 
fro,  each  word  of  their  conversation  very  plain  to  hear 
upon  the  warm,  still  air.  Honour  should  have  compelled 
me  to  close  my  ears  or  the  lattice;  had  I  done  so,  how 
different  might  this  history  have  been,  how  utterly  dif- 
ferent my  career.  As  it  was,  attracted  by  the  sound  of 
my  own  name,  I  turned  from  contemplation  of  my  person 
and,  coming  to  the  window,  leaned  out  again. 

"  Poor  Peregrine,"  said  my  uncle  George  for  the  second 
time. 

"Why  the  pity,  George?  Curse  and  confound  it, 
wherefore  the  pity?  Our  youth  is  a  perfect  ass,  an  in- 
fernal young  fish,  a  puppy-dog  —  pah !  " 

"Aye,  but,"  quoth  my  uncle  George  (and  I  could  dis- 
tinguish the  faint  jingle  of  his  spurs),  "we  roasted  him 
devilishly  to-night  between  us,  Jervas,  and  never  a  word 
out  o'  the  lad  —  " 

"  Egad,  Julia  did  the  talking  for  him  —  " 

"  Ha,  yes  —  dooce  take  me,  she  did  so ! "  exclaimed 
uncle  George.  "What  an  amazingly  magnificent  crea- 
ture she  is  —  " 

"  And  did  ye  mark  our  youth's  cool  insolence,  his  dis- 
dainful airs  —  the  cock  of  his  supercilious  nose  —  curst 
young  puppy ! " 

"Most  glorious  eyes  in  Christendom,"  continued  my 
uncle  George,  "  always  make  me  feel  so  dooced  —  er  —  so 
curst  humble  —  no,  humble  *s  not  quite  the  word ;  what  I 
do  mean  is  —  " 

"Fatuous,  George?"  suggested  Uncle  Jervas  a  trifle 
impatiently. 

"  Unworthy  —  yes,  unworthy  and  er  —  altogether 
dooced,  d*  ye  see  —  her  whole  life  one  of  exemplary  self- 
sacrifice  and  so  forth,  d'ye  see,  Jervas  — " 


Why  I  Set  Forth  upon  the  Quest    15 

"  Exactly,  George !  Julia  will  never  marry,  we  know, 
while  she  has  this  precious  youth  to  pet  and  pamper  and 
cherish  —  " 

"  Instead  of  us,  Jervas  ! " 

"  Us  ?  George,  don't  be  a  fool !  She  could  n't  wed  us 
both,  man!" 

"  Why,  no ! "  sighed  uncle  George.  "  She'd  ha'  to  be 
content  wi'  one  of  us,  to  be  sure,  and  that  one  would 
be  —  " 

"Myself,  George!" 

"  Aye ! "  quoth  uncle  George,  sighing  more  gustily  than 
ever.  "  Begad,  I  think  it  would,  Jervas." 

"  Though,  mark  me,  George,  I  have  sometimes  thought 
she  has  the  preposterous  lack  of  judgment  to  pre- 
fer you." 

"No  —  did  you  though!"  exclaimed  my  uncle  George, 
spurs  jingling  again.  "B'gad,  and  did  you  though  — 
dooce  take  me!" 

"Aye,  George,  I  did,  but  only  very  occasionally.  Of 
course,  were  she  free  of  this  incubus  Peregrine,  free  to 
live  for  her  own  happiness  instead  of  his,  I  should  have 
her  wedded  and  wifed  while  you  were  thinking  about  it." 

"  Aye,"  sighed  my  uncle  George, "  you  were  always  such 
an  infernal  dasher — " 

"As  it  is,  the  boy  will  grow  into  a  priggish,  self-satis- 
fied do-nothing,  and  she  into  an  adoring,  solitary  old 
woman  —  " 

"Julia!  An  old  woman!  Good  God!  Hush,  Jervas 
—  it  sounds  dooced  indecent!" 

"But  true,  George,  devilish  true!  Here's  Julia  must 
grow  into  a  crotchety  old  female,  myself  into  a  solitary, 
embittered  recluse,  and  you  into  a  lonely,  doddering  old 
curmudgeon  —  and  all  for  sake  of  this  damned  lad  — " 

At  this,  stirred  by  sudden  impulse,  I  thrust  my  head 
out  of  the  window  and  hemmed  loudly,  whereupon  they 
halted  very  suddenly  and  stood  staring  up  at  me,  their 
surprised  looks  plain  to  see  by  reason  of  the  brilliant 
moon. 


1 6  Peregrine's   Progress 

"  Pardon  me,  my  dear  uncles,"  said  I,  bowing  to  them 
as  well  as  I  might,  "pardon  me,  but  I  venture  to  think 
not  —  " 

"  Now  'pon  me  everlasting  soul ! "  exclaimed  my  uncle 
Jervas,  fumbling  for  his  eyeglass.  "What  does  the  lad 
mean  ?  " 

"  With  your  kind  attention,  he  will  come  down  and 
explain,"  said  I,  and  clambering  through  the  casement, 
I  descended  forthwith,  hand  over  hand,  by  means  of  the 
ivy  stems  that  grew  very  thick  and  strong  hereabouts. 

Reaching  the  terrace,  I  paused  to  brush  the  dust  from 
knee  and  elbow  while  my  uncle  Jervas,  lounging  against 
the  balustrade,  viewed  me  languidly  through  his  glass,  and 
uncle  George  stared  at  me  very  round  of  eye  and  groped 
at  his  close-trimmed  whisker. 

"  Sirs,"  said  I,  glancing  from  one  to  other,  "  I  regret 
that  I  should  appear  to  you  as  a  'fish,'  a  'puppy*  and 
a  'self-satisfied  do-nothing,'  but  I  utterly  refuse  to  be 
considered  either  an  '  incubus  '  or  a  '  damned  lad '  ! " 

"  Oh,  the  dooce ! "  ej  aculated  uncle  George. 

"  To  the  which  end,"  I  proceeded,  "  I  propose  to  remove 
myself  for  a  while  —  let  us  say  for  six  months  or  there- 
abouts—  on  a  condition." 

"Remove  yourself,  nephew?"  repeated  uncle  Jervas, 
peering  at  me  a  little  more  narrowly.  "  Pray  where  ?  " 

"  Anywhere,  sir.  I  shall  follow  the  wind,  tramp  the 
roads,  consort  with  all  and  sundry,  open  the  book  of 
Life  and  endeavour  to  learn  of  man  by  man  himself." 

"  Very  fine ! "  said  my  uncle  Jervas,  — "  and  damned 
foolish!" 

"  In  a  word,"  I  continued,  "  I  propose  to  follow  your 
very  excellent  advice,  Uncle  Jervas,  and  go  out  into  the 
world  to  find  my  manhood  if  I  can !  That  was  your 
phrase,  I  think?" 

"  Ah,  and  when,  may  I  ask  ?  " 

"  At  once,  sir.    But,  as  I  said  before  —  on  a  condition." 

"  Hum ! "  quoth  my  uncle  Jervas,  dropping  his  glass 
to  tenderly  stroke  his  somewhat  too  prominent  chin. 


Why  I  Set  Forth  upon  the  Quest    1 7 

"  And   might  we  humbly  venture  to  enquire  as  to  the 
condition  ?  " 

"Merely  this,  sir;  so  soon  as  Aunt  Julia  is  freed  of 
her  incubus  —  so  soon  as  I  am  gone  —  you  will  see  to  it 
she  is  not  lonely.  You  will  woo  her,  beginning  at  once, 
both  together  or  turn  about,  because  I  would  not  have 
her  —  this  best,  this  noblest  and  most  generous  of  women 

—  forfeit  anything  of  happiness  on  my  account;  because, 
having  neither  father  nor  mother  that  I  ever  remember, 
the  love  and  reverence  that  should  have  been  theirs  I  have 
given  to  her." 

"  Lord ! "  exclaimed  my  uncle  George,  clashing  his  spurs 
suddenly.  "  Lord  love  the  lad  —  begad  —  oh,  the  dooce !  " 

As  for  uncle  Jervas,  forgetting  his  languor,  he  stood 
suddenly  erect,  frowning,  his  chin  more  aggressive  than 
ever. 

"  You  haven  't  been  drinking,  have  you,  Peregrine?  "  he 
demanded. 

"No,  sir!" 

"Then  you  must  be  mad!" 

"  I  think  not,  sir.    Howbeit,  I  shall  go !  " 

"Preposterousandamridiculous ! "  he  exclaimed  in  a 
breath. 

"  Possibly,  sir ! "  quoth  I,  squaring  my  shoulders  reso- 
lutely. "  But  my  mind  is  resolved  —  " 

"  Julia  —  your  aunt,  will  never  permit  such  torn-fool 
nonsense,  boy ! " 

"  I  am  determined,  sir ! "  said  I,  folding  my  arms.  "  I 
go  for  her  sake  —  her  future  happiness  —  " 

"  Happiness  ?  "  cried  my  uncle  George,  pulling  at  his 
whisker," "'t  would  break  her  heart,  Perry;  she'd  grieve, 
boy,  aye,  begad  she  would  —  she  'd  grieve,  as  I  say,  and 

—  grieve,  d'  ye  see  —  " 

"Then  you  must  comfort  her  —  you  or  Uncle  Jervas, 
or  both!  Woo  her,  win  her  whoever  can,  only  make  her 
happy  —  that  happiness  she  has  denied  herself  for  my 
sake,  all  these  years.  This  you  must  do  —  it  is  for  this 
I  am  about  to  sacrifice  the  joy  of  her  companionship,  the 


1 8  Peregrine's  Progress 

gentle  quiet  and  luxurj  of  home  to  pit  myself,  alone  and 
friendless,  against  an  alien  world.  This,  my  dear  uncles," 
said  I,  finding  myself  not  a  little  moved  as  I  concluded, 
"  this  is  my  prayer,  that,  through  one  of  you  she  may  find 
a  greater  happiness  than  has  ever  been  hers  hitherto." 

"  Tush,  boy ! "  murmured  my  uncle  Jervas,  lounging 
gracefully  against  the  balustrade  of  the  terrace  again. 
"  Tush  and  fiddle-de-dee !  If  you  have  done  with  these 
heroics,  let  us  get  to  our  several  beds  like  common-sense 
beings,"  and  he  yawned  behind  a  white  and  languid  hand. 

His  words  stung  me,  I  will  own ;  but  it  was  not  so  much 
these  that  wrought  me  to  sudden,  cold  fury,  as  that  con- 
temptuous yawn.  Even  as  I  stood  mute  with  righteous 
indignation,  all  my  finer  feelings  thus  wantonly  outraged, 
he  yawned  again. 

"  Come,  Peregrine,"  he  mumbled  sleepily,  "  come  you  in 
to  bed,  like  a  sensible  lad." 

"  Uncle  Jervas,"  said  I,  smiling  up  at  him  as  contempt- 
uously as  possible,  "  I  will  see  you  damned  first ! " 

"  Good  God ! "  exclaimed  my  uncle  George,  and  letting 
go  his  whisker  he  fell  back  a  step,  staring  down  at  me 
as  if  he  had  never  seen  me  before  in  all  his  life.  Uncle 
Jervas,  on  the  contrary,  regarded  me  silently  awhile,  then 
I  saw  his  grim  lips  twitch  suddenly  and  he  broke  into  a 
peal  of  softly  modulated  laughter. 

"  Our  sucking  dove  can  roar,  it  seems",  George  —  our 
lamb  can  bellow  on  occasion.  On  me  soul,  I  begin  to  hope 
we  were  perhaps  a  trifle  out  in  our  estimation  of  him. 
There  was  an  evil  word  very  well  meant  and  heartily  ex- 
pressed ! "  And  he  laughed  again ;  then  his  long  arm  shot 
out,  though  whether  to  cuff  or  pat  my  head  I  do  not  know 
nor  stayed  to  enquire,  for,  eluding  that  white  hand,  I 
vaulted  nimbly  over  the  balustrade  and,  from  the  flower 
bed  below,  bowed  to  him  with  a  flourish. 

"Uncle  Jervas,"  said  I,  "pray  observe  that  I  bow  to 
your  impertinence,  by  reason  of  your  age ;  may  God  mend 
your  manners,  sir !  Uncle  George,  farewell.  Uncles  both, 
heaven  teach  you  to  be  some  day  more  worthy  my  loved 


Why  I  Set  Forth  upon  the  Quest    19 

aunt  Julia!"  Saying  which,  I  turned  and  strode  reso- 
lutely away  across  the  shadowy  park,  not  a  little  pleased 
with  myself. 

I  was  close  upon  the  gates  that  opened  upon  the  high 
road  when,  turning  for  one  last  look  at  the  great  house 
that  had  been  my  home,  I  was  amazed  and  somewhat  dis- 
concerted to  find  my  two  uncles  hastening  after  me;  hot- 
foot they  came,  at  something  betwixt  walk  and  run,  their 
long  legs  covering  the  ground  with  remarkable  speed.  In- 
stinctively I  began  to  back  away  and  was  deliberating 
whether  or  not  to  cast  dignity  to  the  winds  and  take  to 
my  heels  outright,  when  my  uncle  George  hailed  me,  and 
I  saw  he  flourished  a  hat  the  which  I  recognised  as  my  own. 

"  Hold  hard  a  minute,  Perry !  "  he  called,  spurs  jingling 
with  his  haste. 

"My  good  uncles,"  I  called,  "you  are  two  to  one  — 
two  very  large,  ponderous  men ;  pray  excuse  me  therefore 
if  I  keep  my  distance." 

"  My  poor  young  dolt,"  quoth  uncle  Jervas  a  trifle 
breathlessly,  "we  merely  desire  a  word  with  you  — " 

"  Aye,  just  a  word,  Perry !  "  cried  uncle  George.  "  Be- 
sides, we  've  brought  your  hat  and  coat,  d'  ye  see." 

"You  have  no  other  purpose?"  I  enquired,  maintain- 
ing my  rearward  movement. 

"  Dammit  —  no ! "  answered  uncle  Jervas. 

"  Word  of  honour !  "  cried  uncle  George. 

At  this  I  halted  and  suffered  them  to  approach  nearer. 

"You  do  not  meditate  attempting  the  futility  of 
force?"  I  demanded. 

"  We  do  not !  "  said  uncle  Jervas. 

"  Word  of  honour !  "  cried  uncle  George. 

"On  the  contrary,"  continued  uncle  Jervas,  handing 
me  my  silver-buttoned,  frogged  surtout,  "I  for  one 
heartily  concur  and  commend  your  decision  in  so  far  as 
concerns  yourself  —  a  trifle  of  hardship  is  good  for  youth 
and  should  benefit  you  amazingly,  nephew  — " 

"B'gad,  yes!"  nodded  uncle  George.  "Fine  thing, 
hardship  —  if  not  too  hard.  So  we  thought  it  well  to 


2o  Peregrine's   Progress 

see  that  you  did  not  go  short  of  the  —  ah  —  needful,  d' 
ye  see." 

"  Needful,  sir?  "  I  enquired. 

"  Rhino,  lad  —  chink,  my  boy  !  " 

"  Ha,  to  be  sure,"  sighed  uncle  Jervas,  noting  my  be- 
wilderment. "These  coarse  metaphors  are  but  empty 
sounds  in  your  chaste  ears,  nephew  —  brother  George 
is  trying  to  say  money.  Do  you  happen  to  have  a  suffi- 
ciency of  such  dross  about  you,  pray?"  A  search  of  my 
various  pockets  resulted  in  the  discovery  of  one  shilling 
and  a  groat.  "Precisely  as  I  surmised,"  nodded  my 
uncle  Jervas,  "  having  had  your  every  possible  want  sup- 
plied hitherto,  money  is  a  sordid  vulgarity  you  know  little 
about,  yet,  if  you  persist  in  adventuring  your  precious 
person  into  the  world  of  men  and  action,  you  will  find 
money  a  somewhat  useful  adjunct.  In  this  purse  are  some 
twelve  guineas  or  so  —  "  here  he  thrust  the  purse  into  the 
right-hand  pocket  of  my  coat. 

"  And  six  in  this,  Perry ! "  said  uncle  George,  thrust- 
ing his  purse  into  my  left  pocket. 

"  So  here  are  eighteen-odd  guineas,"  quoth  uncle  Jervas, 
"  a  paltry  and  most  inadequate  sum,  perhaps,  but  these 
should  last  you  a  few  days  —  with  care,  or  at  least  until, 
wearying  of  hardship,  you  steal  back  into  the  silken  lap 
of  luxury." 

"  And  look  'ee,  Perry  lad,"  added  uncle  George,  clap- 
ping me  on  the  shoulder  and  eyeing  me  a  little  anxiously, 
"  come  back  soon,  boy  —  soon,  d'  ye  see  — 

"  He  will,  George,  he  will !  "  nodded  uncle  Jervas. 

"  He  looks  damnably  solitary,  somehow,  Jervas." 

"  And  small,  George." 

"  Sirs,"  said  I,  "  for  my  lack  of  size,  blame  nature.  As 
to  loneliness  —  *  my  mind  to  me  my  kingdom  is,'  and  one 
peopled  by  a  thousand  loved  friends,  or  of  what  avail  the 
reading  of  books  ?  " 

"Books?  M  —  yes,  precisely!"  quoth  my  uncle 
George,  ruffling  up  his  thick  curls  and  eyeing  me  askance. 
"But  what  are  we  to  tell  your  aunt  Julia?" 


Why  I  Set  Forth  upon  the  Quest    2  i 

"Nothing,  sir.  At  the  first  inn  I  stop  at  I  will 
write  her  fully  regarding  my  departure  and  future 
plans  —  " 

"  But  —  oh,  curse  it,  Perry,"  exclaimed  uncle  George, 
fumbling  for  his  whisker,  "  she  '11  be  sure  to  blame  us,  aye, 
she  will  so,  b'gad  d'  ye  see  —  " 

"Not  when  she  reads  my  letter,  sir.  Indeed  I  feel  — 
nay,  I  know  that  my  absence  will  but  serve  to  draw  you 
nearer  together,  all  three,  and  I  look  forward  with  as- 
sured hope  to  seeing  her  happily  wedded  to  —  to  one  or 
other  of  you  when  —  when  I  return  —  " 

"  Lord  love  me !  " 

"  Now  on  me  immortal  soul ! "  exclaimed  my  two  uncles 
in  one  breath. 

"  My  dear  sirs,"  I  continued,  "  I  have  long  suspected 
your  passion  for  my  peerless  aunt,  nor  do  I  venture  to 
blame  you — " 

"Blame,  b'gad!"  exclaimed  my  uncle  George  faintly. 

"  To-night  I  chanced  to  overhear  words  pass  between 
you  that  put  the  matter  beyond  doubt  — " 

"Impertinent  young  eavesdropper!"  exclaimed  my 
uncle  Jervas,  very  red  in  the  face. 

"  Thus,  in  taking  my  departure,  I  can  but  wish  you 
every  happiness.  But  before  I  go,  I  would  beg  of  you  to 
satisfy  me  on  a  point  of  family  history  —  if  you  will. 
My  parents  died  young,  I  believe?" 

"  They  did ! "  answered  my  uncle  Jervas  in  strangely 
repressed  voice. 

"Very  young!"  sighed  my  uncle  George. 

"And  what  —  how  came  they  to  die?"     I  questioned. 

"  Your  mother  died  of  —  a  broken  heart,  Peregrine," 
said  uncle  Jervas. 

"  Sweet  child !  "  added  uncle  George. 

"Then  I  pray  that  God  in  His  mercy  has  mended  it 
long  ere  this,"  said  I.  "And  my  father,  sirs,  —  how 
came  he  by  death  so  early?" 

Here  my  two  uncles  exchanged  looks  as  though  a  little 
at  a  loss. 


22  Peregrine's   Progress 

"Has  your  aunt  never  told  you?'*  enquired  my  uncle 
Jervas. 

"  Never,  sir !  And  her  distress  forbade  my  question- 
ing more  than  the  once.  But  you  are  men  and  so  I  ask 
you  how  did  your  brother  and  my  father  die?" 

"  Shot  in  a  duel,  lad,  killed  on  the  spot ! "  said  my 
uncle  George,  and  I  saw  his  big  hand  clench  itself  into 
a  quivering  fist.  "They  fought  in  a  little  wood  not  so 
far  from  here  —  such  a  lad  he  was  —  our  fag  at  school, 
d'  ye  see.  I  remember  they  carried  him  up  these  very 
steps  —  and  the  sun  so  bright  —  and  he  had  scarcely  be- 
gun to  live  —  " 

"And  the  bullet  that  slew  him,"  added  my  uncle 
Jervas,  "just  as  surely  killed  your  mother  also." 

"Yes!"  said  I.     "And  whose  hand  sped  that  bullet?" 

"He  is  dead!"  murmured  my  uncle  Jervas,  gazing 
up  at  the  placid  moon.  "  Dead  and  out  of  reach  —  years 
ago." 

"  Aye  —  he  died  abroad,"  added  uncle  George,  "  Brus- 
sels, I  think,  or  Paris  —  or  was  it  Vienna  —  anyhow  he 

—  is  dead!" 

"And  —  out  of  reach!"  murmured  uncle  Jervas,  still 
apparently  lost  in  contemplation  of  the  moon. 

"  As  to  yourself,  dear,  foolish  lad,"  said  uncle  George, 
laying  his  hand  upon  my  shoulder,  "  if  go  you  will,  come 
back  soon !  And  should  you  meet  trouble  —  need  a  friend 

—  any  assistance,  d'  ye  see,  you  can  always  find  me  at  the 
Grange." 

"  Or  a  letter  to  me,  Peregrine,  directed  to  my  chambers 
in  St.  James's  Street,  will  always  bring  you  prompt 
advice  in  any  difficulty  and,  what  is  better,  per- 
haps—  money.  Morever,  should  you  wish  to  see  the 
town  or  aspire  socially,  you  will  find  I  can  be  of  some 
small  service — " 

"My  dear  uncles,"  I  exclaimed,  grasping  their  hands 
in  turn,  "  for  this  kind  solicitude  God  bless  you  both 
again  and  —  good-bye !  " 

So  saying,  I  turned  (somewhat  hastily)  and  went  my 


Why  I  Set  Forth  upon  the  Quest    23 

way;  but  after  I  had  gone  some  distance  I  glanced  back 
to  behold  them  watching  me,  motionless  and  side  by  side; 
hereupon,  moved  by  their  wistful  attitude,  I  forgot  my 
dignity  and,  whipping  off  my  hat,  I  flourished  it  to  them 
above  my  head  ere  a  bend  in  the  .drive  hid  them  from  my 
view. 


CHAPTER  III 

WHEREIN  THE   HEADER  SHALL,  FIND   SOME   DESCRIPTION 
OF  AN  EXTRAORDINARY  TINKER 

I  WENT  at  a  good,  round  pace,  being  determined  to 
cover  as  much  distance  as  possible  ere  dawn,  since  I  felt 
assured  that  so  soon  as  my  indomitable  aunt  Julia  dis- 
covered my  departure  she  would  immediately  head  a 
search  party  in  quest  of  me;  for  which  cogent  reason  I 
determined  to  abandon  the  high  road  as  soon  as  possible 
and  go  by  less  frequented  byways. 

A  distant  church  clock  chimed  the  hour  and,  pausing 
to  hearken,  I  thrilled  as  I  counted  eleven,  for,  according 
to  the  laws  which  had  ordered  my  life  hitherto,  at  this  so 
late  hour  I  should  have  been  blissfully  asleep  between 
lavender-scented  sheets.  Indeed  my  loved  aunt  abhorred 
the  night  air  for  me,  under  the  delusion  that  I  suffered 
from  a  delicate  chest;  yet  here  was  I  out  upon  the  open 
road  and  eleven  o'clock  chiming  in  my  ears.  Thus  as  I 
strode  on  into  the  unknown  I  experienced  an  exhilarating 
sense  of  high  adventure  unknown  till  now. 

It  was  a  night  of  brooding  stillness  and  the  moon, 
high-risen,  touched  the  world  about  me  with  her  magic, 
whereby  things  familiar  became  transformed  into  objects 
of  wonder;  tree  and  hedgerow  took  on  shapes  strange  and 
fantastic;  the  road  became  a  gleaming  causeway  whereon 
I  walked,  godlike,  master  of  my  destiny.  Beyond  meadow 
and  cornfield  to  right  and  left  gloomed  woods,  remote 
and  full  of  mystery,  in  whose  enchanted  twilight  elves  and 
fairies  might  have  danced  or  slender  dryads  peeped  and 
sported.  Thus  walked  I  in  an  ecstasy,  scanning  with 
eager  eyes  the  novel  beauties  around  me,  my  mind  full 
of  the  poetic  imaginations  conjured  ur>  by  the  magic  of 
this  midsummer  night,  so  that  I  yearned  to  paint  it,  or 
set  it  to  music,  or  write  it  into  adequate  words ;  and  know- 


An   Extraordinary  Tinker        25 

ing  this   beyond  me,  I   fell  to  repeating  Milton's  noble 
verses  the  while: 

"I  walk  unseen 

On  the  dry  smooth-shaven  green, 

To  behold  the  wand' ring  moon 

Riding  near  her  highest  noon, 

Like  one  that  had  been  led  astray 

Through  the  heaven's  wide  pathless  way." 

After  some  while  I  espied  a  stile  upon  my  right  and 
climbing  this,  I  crossed  a  broad  meadow  to  a  small,  rustic 
bridge  spanning  a  stream  that  flowed  murmurous  in  the 
shade  of  alder  and  willow.  Being  upon  this  bridge,  I 
paused  to  look  down  upon  these  rippling  waters  and  to 
watch  their  flash  and  sparkle  where  the  moon  caught 
them. 

And  hearkening  to  the  melodious  voice  of  this  stream- 
let, I  began  to  understand  how  great  poems  were  written 
and  books  happened.  At  last  I  turned  and,  crossing  the 
bridge,  went  my  way,  pondering  on  Death,  of  which  I 
knew  nothing,  and  on  Life,  of  which  I  knew  little  more, 
and  so  at  last  came  to  the  woods. 

On  I  went  amid  the  trees,  following  a  grassy  ride;  but 
as  I  advanced,  this  grew  ever  narrower  and  I  walked  in  an 
ever-deepening  gloom,  wherefore  I  turned  about,  minded 
to  go  back,  but  found  myself  quite  lost  and  shut  in,  what 
with  the  dense  underbrush  around  me  and  the  twisted, 
writhen  branches  above,  whose  myriad  leaves  obscured 
the  moon's  kindly  beam.  In  this  dim  twilight  I  pushed 
on  then,  as  well  as  I  might,  often  running  foul  of  un- 
seen obstacles  or  pausing  to  loose  my  garments  from 
clutching  thorns.  Sudden  there  met  me  a  wind,  dank 
and  chill,  that  sighed  fitfully  near  and  far,  very  dismal 
to  hear. 

And  now,  as  I  traversed  the  gloom  of  these  leafy  soli- 
tudes, what  must  come  into  my  head  but  murders,  sui- 
cides and  death  in  lonely  places.  I  remembered  that  not 
so  long  ago  the  famous  Buck  and  Corinthian  Sir  Mau- 
rice Vibart  had  been  found  shot  to  death  in  just  such 


26  Peregrine's   Progress 

another  desolate  place  as  this.  And  there  was  mj  own 
long-dead  father! 

"  They  fought  in  a  little  wood  not  so  far  from  here ! " 

These,  my  uncle  George's  words,  seemed  to  ring  in 
my  ears  and,  shivering,  I  stopped  to  glance  about  me 
full  of  sick  apprehension.  For  all  I  knew,  this  might 
be  the  very  wood  where  my  youthful  father  had  stag- 
gered and  fallen,  to  tear  at  the  tender  grass  with  dying 
fingers;  these  sombre,  leafy  aisles  perhaps  had  echoed 
to  the  shot  —  his  gasping  moan  that  had  borne  his  young 
spirit  up  to  the  Infinite!  At  this  thought,  Horror  leapt 
upon  me,  wherefore  I  sought  to  flee  these  gloomy  shades, 
only  to  trip  and  fall  heavily,  so  that  I  lay  breathless  and 
half-stunned,  and  no  will  to  rise. 

It  was  at  this  moment,  lying  with  my  cheek  against 
Mother  Earth,  that  I  heard  it,  —  a  strange,  uncanny 
sound  that  brought  me  to  my  hands  and  knees,  peering 
fearfully  into  the  shadows  that  seemed  to  be  deepening 
about  me  moment  by  moment. 

With  breath  held  in  check  I  crouched  there,  straining 
my  ears  for  a  repetition  of  this  unearthly  sound  that 
was  like  nothing  I  had  ever  heard  before,  —  a  quick, 
light,  tapping  chink,  now  in  rhythm,  now  out,  now  ceas- 
ing, now  recommencing,  so  that  I  almost  doubted  but 
that  this  wood  must  be  haunted  indeed. 

Suddenly  these  foolish  apprehensions  were  quelled 
somewhat  by  the  sound  of  a  human  voice,  a  full,  rich 
voice,  very  deep  and  sonorous,  upraised  in  song;  and 
this  voice  being  so  powerful  and  the  night  so  still,  I 
could  hear  every  word. 

"  A  tinker  I  am,  O  a  tinker  am  I, 
A  tinker  I  '11  live,  and  a  tinker  I  '11  die ; 
If  the  King  in  his  crown  would  change  places  wi'  me 
I  'd  laugh  so  I  would,  and  I  'd  saj  unto  he : 
'A  tinker  I  am,  O  a  tinker  am  I, 
A  tinker  I  '11  live,  and  a  tinker  I  '11  ' — " 

The  voice  checked  suddenly  and  I  cowered  down  again 
as  in  upon  me  rushed  the  shadows,  burying  me  in  a 


An   Extraordinary  Tinker        27 

pitchy  gloom  so  that  my  fears  racked  me  anew,  until 
I  bethought  me  this  sudden  darkness  could  be  no  more 
than  a  cloud  veiling  the  moon,  and  I  waited,  though  very 
impatiently,  for  her  to  light  me  again. 

Now  as  I  crouched  there,  I  beheld  a  light  that  was 
not  of  the  moon,  but  a  red  and  palpitant  glow  that  I 
judged  must  be  caused  by  a  fire  at  no  great  distance; 
therefore  I  arose  and  made  my  way  towards  it  as  well 
as  I  could  for  the  many  leafy  obstacles  that  beset  my 
way.  And  thus  at  last  I  came  upon  a  glade  where 
burned  a  fire  and  beyond  this,  flourishing  a  tin  kettle  in 
highly  threatening  fashion,  stood  a  small,  fierce-eyed 
man. 

"  Hold  hard ! "  quoth  he  in  mighty  voice,  peering  at 
me  over  the  fire.  "  I  've  a  blunderbuss  here  and  two  popps, 
so  hold  hard  or  I  '11  be  forced  to  brain  ye  wi'  this  here 
kettle.  Now  then  —  come  forward  slow,  my  covey,  slow, 
and  gi'  e  us  a  peep  o'  you  chum  —  step  cautious  now  or 
I  '11  be  the  gory  death  o'  you ! " 

Not  a  little  perturbed  by  these  ferocious  expressions, 
I  advanced  slowly  and  very  unwillingly  into  the  firelight 
and,  halting  well  out  of  his  reach,  spoke  in  tone  as  con- 
ciliatory as  possible. 

"Pray  pardon  my  intrusion,  but  — " 

"Your  what?"  he  demanded,  while  his  quick,  bright 
eyes  roved  over  my  shrinking  person. 

"Intrusion,"  I  repeated,  "and  now,  if  you  will  kindly 
allow  — • " 

"Intrusion,"  quoth  he,  mouthing  the  word,  "intru- 
sion !  Why,  here 's  one  as  don't  come  my  way  often !  In- 
trusion !  'T  is  a  good  word  and  rhymes  wi'  confusion, 
don't  it?" 

"  It  does ! "  said  I,  wondering  at  his  manner. 

"And  'oo  might  you  be  —  and  what?"  he  questioned, 
beckoning  me  nearer  with  a  motion  of  the  kettle. 

"  One  who  has  lost  his  way  —  " 

"In  silver  buttons  an'  a  jerry  'at  —  hum!  You're 
a  young  nob,  you  are,  a  swell,  a  tippy,  a  go  —  that's 


2  8  Peregrine's    Progress 

what  you  are!  Wherefore  and  therefore  I  ask  what 
you  might  be  a-doing  in  this  here  wood  at  midnight's 
lone  hour?" 

"I  am  lost  —  " 

"  Aha !  "  said  he,  eyeing  me  dubiously  and  scratching 
his  long,  blue  chin  with  the  spout  of  his  kettle.  "  A 
young  gent  in  a  jerry  'at  —  lost  an'  wandering  far 
from  a  luxurious  'ome  in  a  wood  at  midnight!  And 
wherefore?  It  ain't  murder,  is  it?  You  aren  't  been 
doing  to  death  any  pore,  con-fiding  young  fe-male,  have 
ye?" 

"Good  God — no!"     I  answered  in  indignant  horror. 

"  Why  then,  you  don't  'appen  to  ha'  been  robbing  your 
rich  uncle  and  now  on  your  way  to  London  wi'  the  family 
jew-ells  to  make  your  fortun ',  having  set  fire  to  the 
fam-ly  mansion  to  cover  the  traces  o'  your  dark  an*  des- 
p'ret  doin's?" 

"  Certainly  not ! " 

"  Ha ! "  said  he,  with  rueful  shake  of  his  head,  "  I  knew 
it  —  from  the  first.  I  suppose  you  '11  tell  me  you  ain't 
even  forged  your  'oary-'eaded  grandfather's  name  for  to 
pay  off  your  gambling  debts  and  other  gentlemanly  dis- 
sipations—  come  now?" 

"  No,"  said  I,  a  little  haughtily,  "  I  am  not  the  rogue 
and  scoundrel  you  seem  determined  to  take  me  for." 

"  True ! "  he  sighed.  "  And  what 's  more,  you  ain't  even 
got  the  look  of  it.  Life 's  full  o'  disapp'intments  to  a 
romantic  soul  like  me  and  not  half  so  inter-esting  as  u 
good  nov-el.  Now  if  you  'd  only  'appened  to  be  a  mur- 
derer reeking  wi'  crime  an'  blood  —  but  you  ain't,  you 
tell  me?"  he  questioned,  his  keen  eyes  twinkling  more 
brightly  than  ever. 

"I  am  not!" 

"Why,  very  well  then!"  said  he,  nodding  and  seating 
himself  upon  a  small  stool.  "  So  be  it,  young  master, 
and  if  you  'm  minded  to  talk  wi'  a  lonely  man  an*  share  his 
fire,  sit  ye  down  an'  welcome.  Though  being  of  a  nat'rally 
enquiring  turn  o'  mind,  I  'd  like  to  know  what  you  Ve  been 


An   Extraordinary  Tinker        29 

a-doing  or  who,  to  be  hiding  in  this  wood  at  this  witching 
hour  when  graves  do  yawn  ?  " 

"  I  might  as  well  ask  you  why  you  sit  mending  a  kettle 
and  singing?  " 

"  Because  I  'm  a  tinker  an*  foller  my  trade,  an'  trade 's 
uncommon  brisk  hereabouts.  But  as  to  yourself  —  " 

"  You  are  a  strange  tinker,  I  think ! "  said  I,  to  stay 
his  questioning. 

"  And  why  strange  ?  " 

"You  quote  Shakespeare,  for  one  thing  — " 

"  Aha !  That 's  because,  although  I  'm  a  tinker,  I  Jm 
a  literary  cove  besides.  I  mend  kettles  and  such  for  a 
living  and  make  verses  for  a  pleasure ! " 

"What,  are  you  a  poet?" 

"  *  Ardly  that,  young  sir,  '  ardly  that !  "  said  he,  rub- 
bing his  chin  with  the  shaft  of  his  hammer.  "  No,  'ardly 
a  poet,  p'r'aps,  —  but  thereabouts.  My  verses  rhyme  an' 
go  wi'  a  swing,  which  is  summat,  arter  all,  ain't  it?  I 
made  the  song  I  was  a-singing  so  blithe  an'  'earty  —  did 
ye  like  it?" 

"  Indeed,  yes." 

"  No,  but  did  ye  though  ? "  he  questioned  wistfully, 
slanting  his  head  at  me.  "  Honest  an'  true?  " 

"  Honest  and  true ! " 

At  this,  his  bright  eyes  danced  and  a  smile  curved  his 
grim  lips ;  setting  by  hammer  and  kettle,  he  rose  and  dis- 
appeared into  the  small  dingy  tent  behind  him,  whence  he 
presently  emerged  bearing  a  large  case-bottle,  which  he 
uncorked  and  proffered  to  me. 

"  Rum !  "  said  he,  nodding.  "  Any  cove  as  likes  verses, 
'specially  my  verses,  is  a  friend  —  so  drink  hearty,  friend, 
to  our  better  acquaintance." 

:t  Thank  you,  but  I  never  drink ! " 

**  Lord ! "  he  exclaimed,  and  stood  bottle  in  hand,  like 
one  quite  at  a  loss ;  whereupon,  perceiving  his  embarrass- 
ment, I  took  the  bottle  and  swallowed  a  gulp  for  good- 
fellowship's  sake  and  straightway  gasped. 

"  WTiy,  't  is  a  bit  strong,"  quoth  he,  "  but  for  the  con- 


30  Peregrine's   Progress 

cocting,  or,  as  you  might  say,  corn-posing  o'  verses  there  's 
nothing  like  a  drop  o'  rum,  absorbed  moderate,  to  hearten 
the  muse  now  and  then  —  here 's  health  an'  long  life ! " 

Having  said  which,  he  swallowed  some  of  the  liquor  in 
turn,  sighed,  corked  the  bottle  and,  having  deposited  it 
in  the  little  tent,  sat  down  to  his  work  again  with  a 
friendly  nod  to  me. 

"  Young  sir,'*  quoth  he,  "  't  is  very  plain  you  are  one  o' 
the  real  sort  wi'  nothing  flash  about  you,  therefore  I  am 
the  more  con-sarned  on  your  account,  and  wonder  to 
see  the  likes  o'  you  sitting  alongside  the  likes  o'  me  at  mid- 
night in  Dead  Man's  Copse  —  " 

"Dead  Man's  Copse!"  I  repeated,  glancing  into  the 
shadows  and  drawing  nearer  the  fire.  "It  is  a  very 
dreadful  name  —  " 

"But  very  suitable,  young  sir.  There's  many  a  dead 
'un  been  found  hereabouts,  laying  so  quiet  an'  peaceful 
at  last  —  pore  souls  as  ha'  found  this  big  world  and  life 
too  much  for  'em  an'  have  crept  here  to  end  their  misery 
—  and  why  not?  There 's  the  poor  woman  that 's  lost,  say, 
and  wandering  in  the  dark,  but  with  her  tired  eyes  lifted 
up  to  the  kindly  stars ;  so  she  struggles  on  awhile,  but 
by  an'  by  come  storm  clouds  an'  one  by  one  the  stars  go 
out  till  only  one  remains,  a  little  twinkling  light  that  is 
for  her  the  very  light  of  Hope  itself  —  an*  presently  that 
winks  an'  goes,  an'  with  it  goes  Hope  as  well,  an'  she  — 
poor  helpless,  weary  soul  —  comes  a-creeping  into  some 
quiet  place  like  this,  an'  presently  only  her  poor,  bruised 
body  lies  here,  for  the  soul  of  her  flies  away  —  up  an'  up 
a-singing  an'  a-carolling  —  back  to  the  stars  !  " 

"  This  is  a  great  thought  —  that  the  soul  may  not 
perish ! "  said  I,  staring  into  the  Tinker's  earnest  face. 

"Ah,  young  sir,  where  does  the  soul  come  from — 
where  does  it  go  to?  Look  yonder!"  said  he,  pointing 
upwards  with  his  hammer  where  stars  twinkled  down  upon 
us  through  the  leaves.  "  So  they  've  been  for  ages,  and  so 
they  will  be,  winking  down  through  the  dark  upon  you  an* 
me  an'  others  like  us,  to  teach  us  by  their  wisdom.  An'  as 


An   Extraordinary  Tinker        31 

to  our  souls  — Lord,  I  've  seen  so  many  corpses  in  my  time 
I  know  the  soul  can't  die.  Corpses  ?  Aye,  by  goles,  I  'm 
always  a-finding  of  'em.  Found  one  in  this  very  copse 
none  so  long  ago  —  very  young  she  was  —  poor,  lonely 
lass !  Ah,  well !  Her  troubles  be  all  forgot,  long  ago.  An' 
here 's  the  likes  o'  you  sitting  along  o'  the  likes  o'  me  in  a 
wood  at  midnight  —  you  as  should  be  snug  in  sheets 
luxoorious,  judging  by  your  looks  —  an'  wherefore  not, 
young  friend?" 

Now  there  was  about  this  small,  quick,  keen-eyed  tinker 
a  latent  kindliness,  a  sympathy  that  attracted  me  in- 
voluntarily, so  that,  after  some  demur,  I  told  him  my 
story  in  few  words  as  possible  and  careful  to  suppress  all 
names.  Long  before  I  had  ended  he  had  laid  by  hammer 
and  kettle  and  turned,  elbows  on  knees  and  chin  on  sinewy 
fists,  viewing  me  steadfastly  where  I  sat  in  the  fireglow. 

"  So  you  make  verses  likewise,  do  you?  "  he  questioned, 
when  I  had  done. 

"Yes." 

"And  can  paint  pic-toors,  beside?" 

"Yes  —  of  a  sort!"  I  answered,  finding  myself  sud- 
denly and  strangely  diffident. 

"  An'  you  so  young ! "  said  he  in  hushed  and  awestruck 
tones.  "Have  you  writ  many  poems,  sir?  " 

"  I  have  published  only  one  volume  so  far." 

"Lord!"  he  whispered.  "Published  a  vollum  —  in 
print  —  a  book!  Ah — what  wouldn't  I  give  t'  see  my 
verses  in  print  —  in  a  book  —  to  know  they  were  good 
enough  —  " 

"  Ah,  pray  don't  mistake ! "  said  I  hastily,  my  new 
diffidence  growing  by  reason  of  his  unfeigned  and  awe- 
struck wonder.  "I  published  them  myself  —  no  booksel- 
ler would  take  them,  so  I —  I  paid  to  have  them  printed." 

"  And  did  it  cost  much  —  very  much  ?  "  he  enquired 
eagerly.  "Anywhere  near,  well,  say  —  five  pound?" 

"  A  great  deal  nearer  a  hundred !  " 

"A  hun  —  *  he  gasped.  "By  goles!"  he  ejaculated 
after  a  moment,  "poetry  comes  expensive,  don't  it?  A 


3  2  Peregrine's   Progress 

hundred  pound !  Lord  love  me,  I  don't  make  so  much  in 
a  year !  So  I  '11  never  see  any  o*  my  verses  in  a  book,  't  is 
very  sure.  Ah,  well,"  said  he  with  a  profound  sigh,  "  that 
won't  stop  me  a- thinking  or  a-making  of  'em,  will  it?" 

"And  what  do  you  write  about?"  I  enquired,  vastly 
interested. 

"  All  sorts  o'  things  —  common  things,  trees  an'  brooks, 
fields  an'  winding  roads,  and  then  —  there  's  always  the 
stars.  Wrote  one  about  'em  this  very  week,  if  you  'd 
care  to  —  " 

"  I  should,"  cried  I  eagerly.     "  Indeed  I  should ! " 

"  Should  you,  friend?  "  said  he,  fumbling  in  a  pocket  of 
his  sleeved  waistcoat.  "  Why,  then,  so  you  shall,  though 
there  ain't  much  of  it,  which  is  p'raps  just  as  well !  " 

From  his  pocket  he  brought  forth  a  strange  collection 
of  oddments  whence  he  selected  a  crumpled  wisp  of  paper ; 
this  he  smoothed  out  and  bending  low  to  the  fire,  read 
aloud  as  follows: 

"  When  night  comes  down,  where  *er  I  be 

I  want  no  roof  to  shelter  me; 
I  love  to  lie  where  I  may  see 
The  blessed  stars. 

"  Though  I  am  one  not  over-wise 

They  seem  to  me  like  friendly  eyes 
That  watch  us  kindly  from  the  skies, 
These  winking  stars. 

"  Though  I  Ve  no  friend  to  share  my  woe 

And  bitter  tears  unseen  may  flow, 
To  soothe  my  grief  I  silent  go 
To  tell  the  stars. 

"And  when  my  time  shall  come  to  die 
I  care  not  where  my  flesh  shall  lie 
Because   I  know  my  soul  shall  fly 
Back  to  the  stars  !  " 

"Did  you  write  that?"    I  exclaimed. 
"  Aye,    I    did ! "    he    answered,    a    little    anxiously. 
"Rhymes  true,  don't  it?" 


An   Extraordinary  Tinker        33 

"Yes." 

"Goes  wi'  a.  swing,  don't  it?" 
"  Yes." 

"  Very  well  then ;  what  more  can  you  want  in  a  verse  ?  " 
"  But  you  've  got  more  —  much  more !  " 
"What  more?" 

"A  great  deal!     Atmosphere,  for  one  thing  —  '* 
"  Why,  't  was  writ  under  a  hedge,"  he  explained.    "  And 
now,  friend,  p'raps  you'll  oblige  me  wi'  one  o'  yourn?" 
"  Indeed  I  would   rather  not,"  said  I,  finding  myself 
oddly  ill  at  ease  for  once. 

"  Come,  fair  is  fair  !  "  he  urged.  Hereupon,  after  some 
little  reflection,  I  began  reciting  this,  one  of  my  latest 
efforts : 

"  Hail,  gentle  Dian,  goddess-queen 

Throned  'mid  th'  Olympian  vasts 
Majestic,  splendidly  serene 

'  Spite  Boreas '  rageful  blasts. 
Immaculate,  'midst  starry  fires 
Incalculable  thou  —  " 

here  I  stopped  suddenly  and  bowed  my  head. 

"Why,  what  now,  young  sir;  what's  wrong?"  ques- 
tioned the  Tinker. 

"  Everything ! "  said  I  miserably.  "  This  is  not 
poetry ! " 

"  It  —  sounds  very  fine ! "  said  the  Tinker  kindly. 

"But  it  is  just  sound  and  nothing  more  —  it  is  fatuous 

—  trivial  —  it  has  no  soul,  no  meaning,  nothing  of  value 

—  I  shall  never  be  a  poet ! "     And  knowing  this  for  very 
truth,  there  was  born  in  me  a  humility  wholly  unknown 
until  this  moment. 

"  Nay  — never  despond,  friend !  "  quoth  the  Tinker,  lay- 
ing his  hand  on  my  bowed  shoulder.  "  For  arter  all 
you  Ve  got  what  I  ain't  got  —  words !  All  you  need  is 
to  suffer  a  bit,  mind  an'  body,  an'  not  so  much  for  your- 
self as  for  some  one  or  something  else.  Nobody  can  ex- 
pect to  be  a  real  poet,  I  think,  as  has  n't  suffered  or  grieved 
over  summat  or  some  one !  So  cheer  up ;  suffering 's  bound 


34  Peregrine's    Progress 

to  come  t'  ye  soon  or  late ;  't  is  only  to  be  expected  in  this] 
world.  Meanwhile  how  are  ye  going  to  livePJV 

"I  haven't  thought  of  it  yet." 

"  Hum !    Any  money  ?  " 

"Only  eighteen  guineas."1 

"Why,  'tis  a  tidy  sum!  But  even '.-•  eighteen'  pound 
can't  last  for  ever,  an?  when  't  is  all  gone  —  how  then  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Hum ! "  quoth  the  Tinker  again  and  sat  rubbing  his 
chin  and  staring  into  the  fire,  while  I,  lost  in  my  new 
humility,  wondered  if  mv  painting  was  not  as  futile  as  my 
poetry. 

"  Can  ye  work  ?  "  enquired  my  companion  suddenly. 

"I  think  so!" 

"What  at?" 

"I  don't  know!" 

"Hum!     Any  trade  or  profession?" 

"  None ! " 

"  Ha !  too  well  eddicated,  I  suppose.  Well,  't  is  a  queer 
kettle  o'  fish,  but  so  's  life,  yet,  though  heaviness  endure 
for  a  night,  j'y  cometh  in  the  morning,  and  mind,  I'm 
your  friend  if  you're  so  minded.  And  now,  what  I  says 
is  —  let 's  to  sleep,  for  I  must  be  early  abroad."  Here  he 
reached  into  the  little  tent  and  presently  brought  thence 
two  blankets,  one  of  which  he  proffered  me,  but  the  night 
being  very  hot  and  oppressive,  I  declined  it  and  presently 
we  were  lying  side  by  side,  staring  up  at  the  stars.  But 
suddenly  upon  the  stillness,  from  somewhere  amid  the  sur- 
rounding boskages  that  shut  us  in,  came  the  sound  of  one 
sighing  gustily,  and  I  sat  up,  peering. 

"All  right,  friend,"  murmured  the  Tinker  drowsily; 
"  't  is  only  my  Diogenes  ! " 

"And  who  is  Diogenes?" 

"  My  pony,  for  sure ! " 

"  But  why  do  you  call  him  Diogenes  ?  " 

"Because  Diogenes  lived  in  a  tub  an*  —  he  don't! 
Good  night,  young  friend!  Never  thought  o'  writing 
a  nov-el,  I  s'pose?  "  he  enquired  suddenly. 


An   Extraordinary  Tinker        35 

•":* 

"  Never !    Why  do  you  ask?  " 

t  '  "  I  met  a  young  cove  once,  much  like  you  only  bigger, 
and  this  young  cove  threatened  to  write  a  nov-el  an'  put 
me  into  it.  That  was  years  ago,  an'  I  've  sold  and  read 
a  good  many  nov-els  since  then,  but  never  came  across  my- 
self in  ever  a  one  on  'em." 

"  Good  night ! "  said  I  and  very  presently  heard  him 
snore.  But  as  for  me  I  lay  wakeful,  busied  with  my 
thoughts  and  staring  up  at  the  radiant  heaven.  "  No ! " 
said  I  to  myself  at  last,  speaking  my  thought  aloud,  "  No, 
I  shall  never  be  a  poet!" 


CHAPTER  IV 

IN  WHICH  I  MEET  A  DOWN-AT-HEELS  GENTLEMAN 

I  AWOKE  uncomfortably  warm,  to  find  the  high-risen  sun 
pouring  his  dazzling  beams  full  upon  me  while,  hard  by, 
the  Tinker's  fire  yet  smouldered;  up  I  started  to  rub  my 
eyes  and  stare  about  me  upon  the  unfamiliar  scene.  Birds 
piped  and  chirped  merrily  amid  the  leaves  above  and 
around,  a  rabbit  sat  to  watch  me  inquisitively,  but  other- 
wise I  was  alone,  for  the  Tinker  had  vanished  and  his 
tent  with  him. 

Now  as  I  sat,  feeling  strangely  lonely  and  disconsolate,  I 
espied  a  bulbous  parcel  lying  in  reach  and,  opening  this, 
found  it  to  contain  a  small  loaf,  three  slices  of  bacon  and 
a  piece  of  cheese,  together  with  a  folded  paper  whereon 
I  deciphered  these  words  inscribed  in  painfully  neat 
characters. 

YOUNG  SIR: 

What  is  one  thing  at  night  is  another  in  the  morning, 
so  I  have  gone  my  way  and  taken  my  course  appointed.  If 
you  should  wish  to  meet  me  again,  which  would  be  strange, 
I  think,  you  shall  hear  of  me  at  the  White  Hart  nigh  to 
Sevenoaks,  or  the  Chequers  at  Tonbridge  or  from  mostly  any 
of  the  padding  kind,  since  the  high  road  is  my  home  and 
has  been  long.  I  am  glad  you  liked  my  verses,  I  have  more 
I  could  have  read  you  and  I  think  better  of  yours  than  you 
think  I  thought,  though  you  have  taken  Lord  Byron  for 
your  model  I  think  and  he  is  only  a  poet  when  he  forgets  to 
be  a  fine  gentleman.  May  you  prosper,  young  sir,  and  find 
your  manhood  which  I  reckon  is  none  so  far  to  seek.  And 
this  is  the  true  desire  of  me. 

Jeremiah  Jarvis. 

Tinker  and  occasionally  literary  cove. 

I  have  left  you  some  breakfast  also  fire  to  cook  same,  eat 
hearty.  You  will  find  a  frying-pan  in  a  cleft  of  the  tree  we 
slept  under. 


A   Down-at-heels   Gentleman     37 

Thereupon,  being  much  more  hungry  than  was  my 
wont,  I  came  to  the  tree  in  question  and  presently  found 
a  roomy  cleft  where  was  the  frying-pan,  sure  enough. 
And  now,  having  made  up  the  fire,  I  set  about  cooking 
my  breakfast  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  and  found  it 
no  great  business,  turning  the  rashers  this  way  and  that 
in  the  pan  until  what  with  their  delectable  sight  and  smell, 
my  hunger  grew  to  a  voracious  desire  that  amazed  me  by 
its  intensity.  So,  placing  the  frying-pan  on  the  grass  be- 
tween my  knees,  I  began  to  eat  with  the  aid  of  my  pen- 
knife and  a  hunch  of  crusty  bread,  and  never  in  all  my 
days  enjoyed  anything  more. 

In  due  time,  the  bacon  being  despatched  together  with 
the  greater  part  of  the  loaf  and  cheese,  I  lay  propped 
against  the  tree,  blinking  in  the  sun  and  drowsily  content. 
But  this  blissful  aftermath  was  presently  marred  by 
haunting  memories  of  tea,  coffee  and  creamy  chocolate 
until  at  last,  roused  by  an  insistent  and  ever-growing 
thirst,  I  arose,  minded  to  seek  some  means  of  assuaging 
this  appetite.  Thus,  having  scrubbed  out  the  frying- 
pan  with  a  handful  of  bracken,  I  restored  it  to  the  tree 
and  set  out.  After  some  little  while  I  came  on  a  brook 
bubbling  pleasantly  amid  mossy  stones  and  yet,  though  it 
looked  sweet  and  clean  enough,  I  could  not  bring  myself 
to  drink  of  it,  being  too  proud-stomached,  and  must  go 
wandering  on,  plagued  by  my  thirst,  until,  chancing  on 
the  same  brook  or  another,  I  could  resist  no  longer,  and 
stretching  myself  full-length  upon  the  bank  I  stooped 
to  the  murmurous  water  and  drank  my  fill  and  found 
it  none  so  ill,  although  a  little  brackish. 

As  the  day  advanced,  the  cool  wind  died  away  so  that 
what  with  the  heat  and  this  unwonted  exercise  I  grew 
distressed  and  was  about  to  cast  myself  down  in  the  shade 
of  a  hedge,  when  I  espied  a  small  tavern  bowered  in  trees 
some  little  distance  along  the  road,  very  pleasant  to  see, 
and  hasted  thitherward  accordingly.  I  was  yet  some  dis- 
tance away  when  I  became  aware  that  something  untoward 
Was  afoot,  for,  borne  to  my  ears,  came  a  sound  of  excited 


38  Peregrine's   Progress 

voices,  dominated  all  at  once  by  one  deep  and  hoarse  and 
loud  in  virtuous  indignation. 

"  Drunk  me  beer,  I  tell  'ee  —  every  drop !  Drunk  me 
beer  at  one  gullup  so  quick's  a  flash  —  the  'eartless 
ruffin ! " 

Hereupon  rose  an  answering  chorus. 

"  Throw  'im  out !    Duck  'im !     Gi'e  'un  one  for  'isself ! " 

Reaching  the  tavern,  I  halted  on  the  threshold  of  a 
low,  wide  chamber,  floored  with  red  tiles  and  furnished 
with  oaken  tables  and  benches,  where  I  beheld  some  half- 
dozen  angry  country-fellows  grouped  about  a  solitary 
individual  who  fronted  them  in  very  desperate  and  de- 
termined manner,  his  back  to  the  wall;  an  extremely 
down-at-heels  gentleman  this,  who  yet  cocked  his  hat  and 
glared  about  him  with  an  air  of  polite  ferocity. 

"In  half  a  pig's  whisper,"  said  he,  squaring  his  arms 
belligerently,  "  in  half  a  pig's  whisper  or  less,  blood  will 
flow,  gore  will  gush  and  spatter  —  "  Here,  chancing  to 
catch  sight  of  me  in  the  doorway,  he  flourished  off  his 
hat,  a  miserably  sorry-looking  object,  and  bowed  pro- 
foundly. "  Aha,  Sir  Oswald,"  quoth  he,  "  you  arrive  most 
aptly  —  in  the  very  nick,  the  moment,  the  absolute  tick! 
If  you  have  a  mind  to  see  a  little  delicate  fibbing,  some 
scientific  bruising  as  taught  by  the  famous  Natty  Bell, 
foot  and  fist-work  as  exhibited  by  Glorious  John,  Jem 
Belcher  and  —  " 

"  'E  swallowed  all  my  beer,  'e  did,  sir ! "  exclaimed  a 
red-faced  man  in  gaiters  and  smock-frock,  "  in  one  gullup 
—  so  quick  no  'and  could  stay  the  deed!  Stole  me  beer 
an*  can't  deny  it  —  " 

"  No,  by  heaven ! "  exclaimed  the  down-at-heels  gentle- 
man. "I  drank  the  fellow's  beer,  every  drop  —  could 
have  drunk  more.  Our  fat  and  furious  friend  labours 
under  a  delusion,  for  to  drink  good  beer  with  a  man  out 
of  that  man's  own  pot  is  surely  a  mark  of  high  esteem  — 

"  Dang  your  'steem ! "  cried  the  stout  fellow,  flourish- 
ing his  empty  tankard  threateningly.  "A  chap  as 
thieves  a  chap's  beer  is  a  chap  as  can't  be  no  chap's 


A   Down-at-heels   Gentleman     39 

friend!  'Ow  about  it,  you  chaps?"  quoth  he,  appealing 
to  his  fellows.  "  Shall  us  let  a  chap  thieve  a  chap's  beer 
an'  not  kick  that  chap  out  where  that  chap  belongs  —  'ow 
about  it?"  Whereupon  came  the  answering  chorus: 

"Aye,  Sim,  go  for  'im,  lad  —  we'm  wi'  'ee!  Pitch  'im 
out !  Duck  'im  in  th'  'orsepond !  " 

At  this  juncture  spake  one  I  deemed  to  be  the  landlord, 
a  gloomy  being  who  drooped  above  a  small  bar  in  one 
corner. 

"Do  as  ye  will,  neighbours  all,  do  as  ye  will — only 
don't  break  nothink  —  them  as  breaks,  pays ! " 

"  One  moment,  please ! "  said  I,  stepping  forward.  "  If 
the  gentleman  committed  the  solecism  complained  of,  it 
was,  I  am  sure,  not  so  much  a  wish  to  offend  as  an  error 
of  judgment — " 

"  Admirably  expressed,  sir ! "  exclaimed  the  gentleman 
in  question.  "  And  suffer  me  to  add  —  the  exigencies  of 
fortune  and  circumstance!" 

"Therefore,"  I  continued,  returning  the  gentleman's 
polite  bow,  "I  shall  be  happy  to  make  such  restitution 
on  his  behalf  as  I  may." 

At  this  there  fell  a  strange  silence  during  which  every 
eye  was  fixed  on  me  in  somewhat  disconcerting  fashion, 
feet  shuffled,  heads  were  scratched. 

"Ax  your  pardon,  sir  — "  said  the  red-faced  man  at 
last,  rasping  shaven  chin  with  tankard  rim,  "but  if  you 
could  manage  to  talk  a  little  less  furrin'  —  more  plain 
English-like?" 

"I  mean  I  will  buy  more  beer  for  you — and  any  one 
else  who  —  " 

"D'  ye  hear  that,  landlord?"  cried  a  roice.  "The 
genelman  do  mean  pots  all  round!" 

"Do  ye  mean  that  same,  sir?"  enquired  the  landlord, 
glooming  and  doubtful. 

"I  will  pay  for  as  many  pots  as  they  can  drink,  for 
good-fellowship's  sake,"  said  I,  and  laid  down  a  coin. 

"  Spoken  like  a  true  sportsman,  sir ! "  exclaimed  the 
down-at-heels  gentleman.  "  Sir  Oswald,  permit  me  to 


40  Peregrine's   Progress 

bring  to  your  notice  one  Anthony  —  myself,  once  bloom- 
ing gayest  of  the  gay,  now,  alas !  a  faded  blossom,  can- 
kered, sir,  blighted,  yet  not  to  be  trodden  upon  with  im- 
punity and  always  your  most  obliged,  humble  servant!" 
Here  he  paused  to  lift  the  brimming  tankard  the  gloomy 
landlord  had  just  set  before  him  and  bow  to  me  across 
the  creamy  foam.  "  Sir  Oswald,  your  health ! "  said  he. 
"  And  may  heaven  preserve  you  from  these  three  fatal 
F's  —  fathers,  friends  and  females ! "  Having  said 
which,  he  drank  thirstily  and  thereafter  sat  frowning 
down  at  his  broken  boots  beneath  the  brim  of  his  woebe- 
gone hat,  apparently  lost  in  bitter  thought.  And  be- 
holding him  thus,  his  flippancy  forgotten,  his  air  of 
dashing  ferocity  laid  aside,  I  saw  he  was  pale  and  thin 
and  haggard  and  much  younger  than  I  had  thought.  Sud- 
denly, chancing  to  meet  my  eye,  his  pale  cheeks  flushed 
painfully,  then,  squaring  his  drooping  shoulders,  he  smote 
his  hat  more  over  one  eye  than  ever,  nodded  gaily,  sprang 
lightly  to  his  feet  and  gripped  at  the  table  to  steady 
himself. 

"Egad,  sir,"  said  he,  laughing,  "they  brew  uncom- 
monly strong  ale  in  these  parts,  it  seems ! " 

"  Yes ! "  said  I,  well  knowing  it  was  not  this  had  so 
Shaken  him  or  caused  his  hands  to  quiver  as  he  leaned. 
"  I  was  thinking,"  I  continued,  "  that  with  such  ale  a 
crust  of  bread  and  cheese  might  not  be  amiss?  " 

"  Cheese ! "  he  exclaimed  fiercely.  "  Sir  —  I  —  I  detest 
cheese!"  But  as  he  spoke  I  noticed  his  nearest  hand 
had  clenched  itself  into  a  quivering  fist. 

"Why,  indeed,"  said  I,  furtively  watching  that  telltale 
hand,  "  I  myself  should  prefer  a  slice  of  roast  beef  —  or 
a  rasher  of  ham  —  " 

"Ham!"  he  murmured  softly  as  if  to  himself  —  and 
then  in  the  same  tone,  "  Sir,  I  never  eat  ham,  it  is  an 
abom  — " 

"  'Am,  sir?  "  sighed  the  gloomy  landlord  at  this  junc- 
ture, "  if  you  gentleman  was  a-thinking  of  'am,  I  've  as 
fine  a  gammon  as  was  ever  smoked,  leastways  so  my  missus 


A   Down-at-heels   Gentleman    41 

do  say,  so  if  you  'm  minded  for  a  rasher  or  so  —  cut  thick 
—  an'  say  'arf  a  dozen  eggs  —  why,  say  the  word,  sir." 

"  The  word  is  *  yes '  —  if  this  gentleman  will  honour 
me  with  his  company,"  said  I.  Hereupon  the  down-at- 
heels  gentleman  shook  his  head,  scowled  into  his  tankard, 
sighed,  and,  meeting  my  eye,  broke  into  a  wry  smile. 
"  With  all  the  pleasure  in  life,  sir ! "  said  he. 

Thus  in  a  little  while  we  were  seated  in  a  small,  clean 
room  with  the  ham  and  eggs  smoking  on  a  dish  between 
us,  whence  emanated  a  savour  most  delectable. 

"  It  smells  very  appetising ! "  said  I,  taking  up  knife 
and  fork. 

"  So  much  so,"  said  he,  "  so  very  much  so,  that  before 
I  accept  more  of  your  hospitality,  it  is  as  well  you  should 
know  whom  you  would  honour  — "  here  I  paused  and 
stared  down  at  the  ham  and  eggs.  "  Sir,  I  am  a  thief ! " 
Here  I  let  fall  the  knife.  "  Three  nights  since,  sir,"  he 
continued  in  the  same  passionless  voice,  "I  broke  into  a 
farmhouse  and  stole  a  loaf  and  a  piece  of  cheese.  I  should 
have  stolen  more  but  that  I  was  interrupted  and  pursued. 
I  lost  the  cheese  clambering  over  a  wall,  the  last  of  the 
loaf  I  finished  yesterday  morning,  since  when  I  have  sub- 
sisted on  air  and  an  occasional  mangel-wurzel  —  " 

"  Then  surely  it  is  time  you  ate  something  more  sub- 
stantial—  this  ham  seems  excellent  and  —  " 

"  God  love  you,  Sir  Oswald  —  you  're  a  trump ! "  he 
exclaimed  and  sitting  down,  fell  to  upon  the  food  I  had 
set  before  him. 

"  It  is  good  ham  !  "  said  I. 

"  Sublime !  "  he  answered,  and  seeing  with  what  fervour 
he  addressed  himself  to  the  viands,  I  troubled  him  with 
no  further  speech  until,  his  plate  empty,  he  leaned  back 
in  his  chair  and  vented  a  sigh  of  blissful  and  utter 
content. 

"  For  that  — "  he  began  haltingly,  his  voice  a  little 
hoarse,  "  for  —  your  hospitality  —  accept  the  thanks  of  a 
starving  wretch ! " 

"  And  my  name  is  not  Oswald ! "  said  I. 


42  Peregrine's   Progress 

"  Of  course  not,  but  it  answered  very  well  with  the 
fellows  outside  —  nothing  like  a  high-sounding  name  or 
title  to  awe  your  British  rustic.  And  now,"  said  he,  with 
an  expression  half-whimsical,  half-rueful,  as  he  picked  up 
his  woebegone  hat,  "having  by  your  courtesy  eaten  and 
drunk  my  fill,  I  will  do  my  best  to  repay  you  by  ridding 
you  of  my  company." 

"I  was  christened  Peregrine,"  said  I,  reaching  over  to 
refill  his  tankard.  Now  at  this  he  stood  mute  a  space,  and 
very  still,  only  he  fumbled  nervously  with  his  hat  and  I 
heard  his  breath  catch  oddly,  wherefore  I  kept  my  gaze 
bent  upon  the  jug  in  my  hand. 

"  Sir,"  said  he  at  last,  speaking  as  with  an  effort, 
"when  I  stole  the  bread  and  cheese,  I  would  have  stolen 

—  anything  that  had  chanced  in  my  reach  —  money  — 
jewels  —  anything.     I  was  mad  and  desperate  with  hun- 
ger.    And  yet  many  a  poor  rogue  in  the  same  circum- 
stances did  no  more  and  their  bodies  dangle  in   chains 
on    the    highway.      I    have    even    contemplated    turning 
footpad  —  " 

"  I  think,"  said  I,  "  you  told  me  your  name  was  Anthony 

—  well,  if  you  are  going  on,  I  will  come  with  you,  if  I 
may." 

"You  will  trust  yourself  —  with  me  —  in  these  solitary 
byways ! " 

"  Of  course,"  said  I,  rising,  "  because,  in  spite  of  every- 
thing, you  are  a  gentleman ! " 

At  this  he  turned  very  abruptly  and  strode  to  the 
latticed  casement,  while  I,  having  summoned  the  landlord, 
paid  the  reckoning.  Then,  bidding  the  company  good- 
day,  we  set  forth  together. 


CHAPTER  V 

FURTHER  CONCERNING  THE  AFORESAID  GENTLEMAN, 
ONE  ANTHONY 

So  we  walked  on  together,  side  by  side,  through  leafy 
byways  and  winding  paths,  past  smiling  cornfield  and 
darkling  wood;  we  talked  of  the  Government,  of  country 
and  town,  of  the  Fashionable  World  and  its  most  famous 
denizens,  concerning  which  last  my  companion's  knowl- 
edge seemed  profound;  we  spoke  but  little  of  books,  of 
which  he  seemed  amazingly  ignorant  —  in  fine,  we  ex- 
changed thoughts  and  reflections  on  any  and  everything 
except  ourselves.  And  thus,  as  evening  drew  nigh,  we 
came  to  the  top  of  a  hill.  Here  he  stopped  all  at  once 
and  taking  off  his  dilapidated  hat,  pointed  with  it  up 
at  the  thing  that  rose  above  us,  looming  against  the  sun- 
set-glory, beam,  cross-bar  and  chain. 

"Look  at  that!"  quoth  he,  staring  up  at  something 
hideously  warped  and  weather-beaten  and  clasped  round 
with  iron  bands,  —  an  awful  shape  that  dangled  from 
rusting  chain.  "But  for  my  light  heels  —  I  might  have 
come  to  that  —  and  yet  why  not  —  his  troubles  are  over. 
So  in  a  year  —  six  months  —  who  knows,  —  there  hang 
I  —  " 

"God  forbid,  Anthony?"  cried  I. 

Now  at  this  he  whirled  round  and,  clapping  his  two 
hands  upon  my  shoulders,  burst  forth  into  vehement 
oaths  to  my  deep  amazement  until  I  saw  the  tears  in  his 
haggard  eyes. 

".  .  .  Curse  and  confound  it ! "  he  ended.  "  Why  must 
you  call  me  Anthony ! " 

"  Because  it  is  the  only  name  I  know  you  by,  for  one 
thing." 

"  Well ! "  said  he,  blinking  and  scowling  savagely. 

"  And  because  I  like  the  name  of  Anthony." 


44  Peregrine's    Progress 

"Oh!  egad  do  you?     Well,  I  like  the  name  Peregrine." 

"  Good ! "  said  I,  and  we  walked  on  down  the  hill  to- 
gether. "  My  other  name  is  Vereker,"  I  volunteered,  see- 
ing he  was  silent. 

"  Vereker?  "  he  repeated  and  stopped  to  stare  at  me. 
"No  relation  to  Sir  Jervas  Vereker?" 

"His  nephew!" 

"  The  devil  you  are ! "  And  here  he  stood  looking 
down  at  me  from  his  superior  height,  rasping  his  fingers 
up  and  down  his  thin,  unshaven  cheek  like  one  quite  dumb- 
founded. 

"  Do  you  happen  to  know  my  uncle?  " 

"I  do  —  or  rather  I  did,  humbly  and  at  a  distance, 
for  Sir  Jervas  is,  and  always  will  be,  magnificently  aloof 
from  all  and  sundry  —  but  you  know  this,  of  course?" 

"  On  the  contrary,  though  I  have  seen  him  frequently, 
I  know  him  not  in  the  least." 

"  My  dear  Vereker  —  who  does  ?  " 

"  My  name  is  Peregrine ! "  said  I,  whereupon  came  that 
impulsive  hand  to  rest  lightly  upon  my  shoulder  again 
for  a  moment. 

"  My  dear  Peregrine,  your  uncle  is  unique ;  there  never 
was  any  one  quite  like  him  unless  it  were  Sir  Maurice 
Vibart,  the  famous  Buck,  though  your  uncle,  perhaps,  is 
not  quite  so  coldly  devilish ;  still,  he 's  sufficiently  remark- 
able." 

"How  so?" 

"  Well,  he  has  fought  three  duels  to  my  knowledge, 
won  a  point-to-point  steeplechase  not  so  long  ago  and  a 
fortune  with  it  —  came  down  at  the  first  jump  and  rode 
with  a  broken  arm  though  nobody  knew  until  he  fainted. 
Youthful  despite  years,  quick  of  eye,  hand  and  tongue, 
correct  in  himself  and  all  that  pertains  to  him,  one  who 
must  be  sought  —  even  by  Royalty,  it  seems  —  who  might 
have  married  among  the  fairest  and  lives  solitary  except 
for  his  man  John.  Sir  Jervas  Vereker  is  —  Sir  Jervas." 

"  You  seem  to  know  my  uncle  rather  well." 

"  I  did  —  for  my  name  besides  Anthony  is  Vere-Man- 


Further  Concerning  the  Gentleman  45 

ville ! "  Here  he  paused  as  expecting  some  comment  but 
finding  me  silent,  continued:  "My  father  was  killed  with 
Sir  John  Moore,  at  Corunna,  and  I  was  brought  up  by 
a  curmudgeonly  uncle,  the  most  preposterous  unavuncular 
uncle  that  ever  bullied  a  defenceless  nephew  to  the  dogs. 
Well,  I  grew  up  and  was  a  moderately  happy  man  despite 
my  uncle,  until  I  took  to  my  bosom  a  friend  who  deceived 
me  and  a  mistress  who  broke  my  heart." 

"Oh,"  said  I,  not  a  little  touched  by  this  gloomy  and 
romantic  tale,  "  then  this  explains  your  —  your  —  " 

"  My  present  misery,  Peregrine  ?  Not  altogether.  Had 
I  been  a  philosopher  and  bent  to  the  storm,  I  might  per- 
chance have  gone  my  solitary  way  a  broken  and  embittered 
man,  but  philosophy  and  bending  to  storms  is  not  in  me, 
unhappily,  for  chancing  to  encounter  my  faithless  friend, 
I  twisted  his  nose  to  such  a  tune  that  he  demanded  satis- 
faction which  resulted  in  my  wounding  him;  after  which 
I  consigned  my  perjured  mistress  to  perdition;  after 
which  again,  purely  because  she  happened  to  be  a  wealthy 
heiress,  my  curmudgeonly  uncle  cast  me  adrift,  cut  me  off 
and  consigned  me  to  the  devil." 

"  Here  is  a  very  moving  story ! "  said  I. 

"It  is,  Peregrine,  it  is,  egad — and  consequently  I  have 
been  moving  ever  since  and  going  to  the  devil  as  fast  as 
I  can,  though  sadly  hampered  by  lack  of  funds." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  *  going  to  the  devil  ?  ' " 

"Why,  there  are  many  ways,  Peregrine,  as  of  course 
you  know,  but  mine  would  be  ale,  beer,  wine,  brandy  — 
had  I  the  necessary  money." 

"  Are  you  determined  on  it  ?  " 

"Absolutely!"  said  he,  taking  off  his  battered  hat  to 
scowl  at  it  and  clap  it  on  again.  "Absolutely,  Peregrine 
-I  am  firmly  determined  to  drink  myself  to  the  final 
exodus." 

"How  much  money  should  you  require,  Anthony?" 

At  this  he  turned  to  stare  with  an  expression  of  whimsi- 
cal dubiety  and  thereafter  fell  to  rubbing  his  unshaven 
chin  as  rather  at  a  loss. 


46  Peregrine's   Progress 

"  Let  us  say  fifty  guineas  —  no,  we  '11  make  it  a  hun- 
dred while  we  're  about  it  —  a  hundred  guineas  would  do 
the  thing  admirably  —  though  to  be  sure  much  might  be 
done  with  less." 

"  I  have  only  eighteen  pounds,"  said  I,  thrusting  hand 
into  pocket;  "which  will  leave  nine  for  you  — " 

"  Hey ! "  he  exclaimed,  stopping  in  his  sudden  fashion. 
" What's  this — what  the  devil  —  I  say,  curse  and  con- 
found everything,  man,  what  d'  ye  mean  ?  " 

"Being  both  solitary  wanderers,  we  will  share  equally 
so  far  as  we  may  — " 

"No  —  not  to  be  thought  of  —  preposterous  —  " 

"  So  I  ask  you  to  honour  me  by  accepting  these  nine 
pounds  —  " 

"I '11  be  shot  if  I  do!" 

"They  may  help  you  to  —  " 

"  To  my  drunken  dissolution  ?  Ridiculous !  Nine 
pounds'  worth  would  never  do  it,  I  'm  so  infernally  healthy 
and  strong!  Nine  accursed,  miserable  pounds  —  what 
use  to  a  drinker  such  as  I  ?  " 

"Many,  Anthony,  and  I  think  I  can  guess  one  of  the 
first  —  " 

"And  that?" 

"  To  procure  yourself  a  shave ! " 

"Egad!"  cried  he  with  a  sudden,  merry  look,  "I  be- 
lieve you  're  in  the  right  of  it !  A  stubbly  chin  makes  a 
man  feel  such  a  pernicious,  scoundrelly,  hangdog  walking 
misery." 

"  Precisely ! "  said  I,  holding  out  the  nine  pounds.  "  So 
take  your  money,  Anthony." 

"  Positively  no ! "  said  he,  scowling  down  at  the  coins. 
"I  thieve  occasionally,  but  I  don't  beg  —  yet,  and  be 
damned  t'  you ! "  And  thrusting  hands  into  pockets,  he 
went  on  again.  So  I  put  up  the  money  and  we  walked 
on,  but  in  silence  now,  while  the  shadows  deepened  about 
us.  And  thus  we  went  for  a  great  while  until  with  every 
stride  this  silence  became  painfully  irksome  —  at  least,  to 
me.  All  at  once  his  arm  was  about  my  shoulders,  a  long, 


Further  Concerning  the  Gentleman  47 

nervous  arm  drawing  me  to  him,  then  he  had  freed  me  and 
we  stood  facing  each  other  in  the  gathering  dusk. 

"  Perry !  "  said  he,  in  strange,  shaken  voice.  "  Dear 
fellow,  will  you  forgive  a  graceless  dog?  You  meant 
kindly,  but  I  couldn't  —  I  should  despise  myself  more 
than  I  do  —  so —  Oh,  curse  and  confound  it  —  what 
about  it?" 

For  answer  I  reached  out  and  took  his  hand;  so  we 
stood  for  a  long  moment  speaking  never  a  word.  And 
presently  we  went  on  down  the  darkling  road  together. 


CHAPTER  VI 

DESCRIBES  CERTAIN  LIVELY  HAPPENINGS  AT  THE 
"JOLLY  WAGGONER"  INN 

WE  had  gone  thus  no  great  distance  when  we  heard 
a  sound  of  hoofs  and  wheels  and  perceived  an  open  travel- 
ling chaise  coming  up  behind  us.  The  lane  was  narrow 
and  rutted  and  thus  the  vehicle  was  progressing  at  an 
inconsiderable  pace,  and  as  it  passed  us  where  we  stood 
in  the  hedge,  I  saw  it  contained  a  man  and  a  woman.  This 
man  was  richly  dressed,  and  handsome  in  a  big,  plethoric 
fashion,  but  beholding  his  face,  the  small  eyes,  heavy 
jowls  and  fleshy  nose,  I  took  an  instant  aversion  to  him. 

"Did  you  notice  that  fellow?"  I  enquired,  brushing 
the  dust  from  me. 

"Did  you  see  —  her?"  exclaimed  Anthony. 

"  A  fleshly  brute  if  ever  there  was  one !  "  said  I. 

"Such  glorious  eyes  and  hair  —  a  sweet  angelic  crea- 
ture, Perry.  Her  eyes  seemed  so  big  and  appealing.  Oh, 
curse  it,  why  must  women  have  such  eyes.  Damn  every- 
thing!" 

"It  will  be  a  beautiful  night!"  said  I,  staring  up  at 
the  purple  vault  where  stars  began  to  wink. 

"She  looked  —  miserable — almost  like  one  afraid." 

"I  wonder  where  we  shall  sleep,  Anthony?" 

"  Oh,  anywhere,  in  some  barn,  under  a  hedge,  in  a 
rick  —  what  matter?  Why  should  she  look  afraid,  I 
wonder?" 

I  made  no  answer,  for  truth  to  tell  my  mind  yearned 
and  my  body  hungered  for  the  sweet,  cool  luxury  of  lav- 
ender sheets;  the  thought  of  a  draughty  barn  or  com- 
fortless ditch  appalled  me,  but  I  held  my  peace,  only  I 
scanred  the  dim  road  before  me  with  eager  eyes  for  some 
sign  of  tavern  or  inn. 

And  presently  from  the  loom  of  trees  I  espied  a  twink- 


The  "Jolly  Waggoner"  Inn      49 

ling  light  that  upon  our  nearer  approach  I  saw  proceeded 
from  a  wayside  inn  with  a  great  trough  of  water  before 
it  and  a  signboard  whereon,  though  evening  was  falling 
apace,  I  could  make  out  the  legend  — 

THE  JOLLY  WAGGONER 

and  above  this  the  dim  semblance  of  a  man  in  gaiters  and 
smock,  bearing  a  whip  in  one  hand  while  in  the  other  he 
upheld  a  foaming  beaker  —  but  never  in  nature  did  ale 
or  beer  ever  so  foam,  froth,  bubble  and  seethe  as  did  this 
painted  waggoner's  painted  beer. 

"  What  now  ? "  enquired  my  companion,  for  I  had 
halted.  "  What  is  it,  Peregrine?  " 

"  The  beer !  "  said  I. 

"Where,  man,  where?" 

"  Yonder !  "  and  I  pointed  to  the  sign.  "  Did  ever  eyes 
behold  beer  so  preternaturally  frothy  ?  " 

"  Of  course  not,  Perry  my  lad,  because  reality  is  never 
so  perfect  as  the  dream !  The  cove  who  painted  that 
was  damnably  dry,  perishing  of  a  noble  thirst,  not  a 
doubt  of  it,  and  being  a  true  artist  he  painted  it  all  in  — 
egad,  there 's  thirst  in  every  inch  of  that  foam  —  it 's 
a  masterpiece ! " 

"  It 's  a  daub  —  and  a  bad  one ! "  said  I.  "  Indeed,  on 
closer  inspection  the  foam  looks  very  like  cheese ! " 

"Excellent — the  poor  painting-cove  was  hungry  also-, 
and  there  you  are!  I'd  hang  that  thing  in  my  dining 
room  (supposing  I  had  one)  to  get  me  an  appetite  —  it 's 
made  me  hungry  already  and  as  for  the  thirst*—  Oh, 
confound  it  —  come  on  —  " 

"  By  no  means !  "  said  I  resolutely.  "  Here  is  a  cosy 
inn;  here  will  we  eat  and  sleep — " 

"  At  your  expense  ?     Curse  me,  no,  Peregrine." 

"Damme,  yes,  Anthony." 

"  I  say  positively  I  '11  not  —  " 

"  Look  at  that  cheese-like  foam,  Anthony ! " 

"  Curse  your  pitiful  eighteen  pounds ! " 


50  Peregrine's   Progress 

"A  dinner,  a  glass  and  a  downy  bed  with  sheets, 
Anthony ! " 

"  Remember  I  'm  a  man  of  astonishing  determination, 
Peregrine ! " 

",Forget  your  ridiculous  pride,  Anthony!" 

"Ha  —  ridiculous,  d'  ye  say,  sir?" 

"And  utterly  preposterous,  sir!" 

"  Preposterous  !  By  heaven ! "  he  exclaimed,  cocking 
the  battered  hat  very  ferociously  over  one  eye.  "Were 
you  a  little  nearer  my  weight  and  size,  sir  —  " 

"  Sir,"  quoth  I,  nettled  by  the  allusion,  "  does  my  size 
offend  you  —  " 

"  Rather  say  lack  of  size,  sir  —  " 

"Sir?" 

"Sir!" 

Now  while  we  stood  glaring  upon  each  other  in  this 
very  ridiculous  manner,  we  were  startled  by  a  clatter  of 
hoofs  from  the  inn  yard,  and  the  snorting  squeal  of  a 
horse  in  pain. 

"  By  heaven,  Perry ! "  he  exclaimed,  forgetting  his 
ferocity  and  settling  his  hat  more  firmly  with  a  blow  of 
his  fist,  "I  believe  some  damned  scoundrel  is  kicking  a 
horse!"  And  away  he  strode  forthwith  and  I  hastened 
after  him.  Reaching  the  yard  behind  the  inn  we  per- 
ceived an  ostler  and  a  postboy  who  cherished  a  trembling 
horse  between  them,  talking  together  in  hushed  but  sullen 
tones. 

"Who's  been  savaging  the  horse,  my  lads?"  demanded 
Anthony,  running  a  hand  over  the  sweating  animal  with 
the  caressing  touch  of  a  true  horseman.  "  Come,  speak 
up  and  no  mumbling!" 

"  ST  were  the  genelman  in  the  blue  spencer  as  druv  up 
'ere  a  while  ago  cursing  'orrid,  an'  'im  wi'  a  young  fe-male. 
A  bad  'un  by  'is  looks  an*  ways,  I  think,  an'  I  don't  care 
if  'e  'ears  me  say  it. " 

"Ah  —  with  a  lady,  was  he?" 

"  'E  were !  " 

"A  very  beautiful  lady  —  young,  with  hair  —  eyes  —  " 


The  "Jolly  Waggoner"  Inn      51 

"W'y,  she  may  'ave  'ad  heyes  an'  she  might  'ave  'ad 
'air — likewise  she  may  not  —  she  may  ha'  been  as  bald 
as  a  coot  an'  as  blind  as  a  mole  for  all  I  see  —  " 

"  That  '11  do,  my  lad,  that  '11  do !  But  she  was  young, 
wasn't  she?" 

" 'Ow  should  I  know?"  exclaimed  the  ostler,  his  man- 
ner losing  all  respect  as  he  observed  Anthony's  general 
down-at-heel  appearance.  "I  didn't  think  to  open  'er 
mouth  nor  yet  ob-serve  'er  teeth  —  " 

"That'll  do,  my  lad,  that'll  do  —  " 

"Oh,  will  it  an'  all  —  why  then,  git  out  o*  this  yere 
yard.  Who  are  you  t'  ax  questions  —  out  wi*  ye  an' 
quick's  the  word!"  Saying  which,  the  tall  ostler  ap- 
proached in  a  very  dangerous  and  threatening  fashion; 
but  even  as  he  moved,  so  moved  Anthony,  only  infinitely 
quicker,  and  lo !  in  place  of  large,  scowling  visage  were 
two  large  hobnailed  shoes  that  wavered  uncertainly  aloft 
in  air  while  their  owner  rolled  upon  a  pile  of  stable 
sweepings. 

"That  was  what  Natty  Bell  would  call  *one  to  go  on 
with!"' 

"  Lorramity ! "  gasped  the  ostler,  sitting  up  and  glanc- 
ing about  in  dazed  fashion.  "  Lorramity  —  that 's  done 
it,  that  'as!" 

"If  it  hasn't,  we'll  try  another!"  suggested  Anthony 
in  cheery  tone. 

"  By  cripes ! "  exclaimed  the  ostler,  taking  up  a  hand- 
ful of  stable  sweepings  in  an  aimless  sort  of  manner. 
"  That  was  a  one-er,  that  was !  " 

"  I  believe  you ! "  quoth  the  postboy.  "  It  were  a  level- 
ler as  you  was  a  fair  askin'  an'  a-pleading  for,  an'  you 
got  it ! " 

"Is  the  lady  stopping  here  to-night?"  enquired  An- 
thony. 

"  She  are,  sir !  "  answered  the  postboy. 

"  She  am,  sir !  "  answered  the  other,  "  an'  because  why, 
sir  —  I'll  tell  ye  true,  if  you  won't  go  a-landin'  me  no 
more  o'  them  one-er's  —  " 


52  Peregrine's   Progress 

"Because  'is  near  'orse  cast  a  shoe,  sir,"  explained  the 
postboy. 

"An*  no  smith  nigher  than  Sevenoaks,  which  is  seven 
miles  away." 

"  Peregrine,"  said  my  companion,  turning  towards  the 
inn,  "  remembering  the  foam  and  your  magnanimous  offer 
we  will  reconsider  our  decision.  This  way !  "  And  push- 
ing open  a  door,  we  found  ourselves  in  a  comfortable 
chamber,  half  bar,  half  kitchen,  where  was  a  woman  of 
large  and  heroic  proportions  who,  beholding  Anthony's 
draggled  exterior,  frowned,  but  the  sight  of  my  silver 
buttons  and  tasseled  Hessians  seemed  to  reassure  her,  for 
she  smiled  and  bobbed  a  curtsey  to  them  and  asked  my 
pleasure.  At  my  suggestion  of  supper  and  beds  for  two, 
she  turned  to  frown  at  Anthony's  attire  again  and  called, 
"Susie!" 

In  answer  to  which  summons  presently  appeared  a  trim 
maid  who,  at  her  mistress's  bidding,  forthwith  brought  us 
to  a  small  chamber  none  too  comfortable,  and  there  left 
us  to  kick  our  heels. 

"  As  lovely  a  pair  of  eyes  that  ever  eyes  looked  into, 
Perry ! " 

"  Why,  she 's  a  fine,  plump,  buxom  kind  of  creature, " 
said  I,  "but  I  think  she  squints  a  little  — " 

"  Squints  ! "  cried  Anthony,  turning  with  a  kind  of  leap 
—  "I  '11  be  damned  if  she  does  —  " 

"Well,  then,  take  notice  when  she  comes  to  lay  the 
table  —  " 

"What  table?     Who?" 

"Why,  the  maid  — " 

"  Ass  !  I  meant  the  Lady  of  the  Chaise !  And  she  was 
frightened,  Perry  —  and  no  wonder  —  a  man  who  would 
kick  a  horse  would  savage  a  woman  —  by  heaven,  there 
are  times  when  murder  is  a  virtue!"  Here  he  rose  sud- 
denly as  a  heavy,  trampling  footstep  shook  the  ceiling 
above  us.  "Peregrine,"  said  he,  tossing  his  hat  into  a 
corner,  "  while  you  remain  here  to  observe  the  squint-eyed 
maid,  I  will  forthwith  investigate." 


The  "Jolly  Waggoner"  Inn      53 

Left  alone,  I  sat  impatiently  enough,  twiddling  my 
thumbs ;  but  as  time  passed  and  brought  neither  Anthony 
nor  the  maid  with  supper,  my  impatience  redoubled,  so 
that  I  rose  and,  opening  a  door,  found  myself  in  a  pas- 
sage wherein  were  other  doors,  from  behind  one  of  which 
came  the  dull,  low  sound  of  a  woman's  passionate  weeping. 
Inexpressibly  moved  by  this,  I  hastened  forward  impul- 
sively and,  opening  this  door,  stepped  into  the  room 
beyond. 

She  was  crouching  at  the  table,  a  slender,  desolate 
figure,  her  face  hidden  in  her  arms,  but  hearing  my  foot- 
step, she  lifted  her  head  with  a  weary  gesture  and,  looking 
into  the  beauty  of  this  pale,  tear-wet  face,  I  read  there 
a  hopeless  terror  that  went  far  beyond  fear. 

At  sight  of  me  she  half  rose,  then  sank  down  again,  as 
from  an  inner  chamber  strode  a  tall,  heavily  built  man 
in  whom  I  instantly  recognised  the  gentleman  of  the 
chaise.  Beholding  me,  he  halted  suddenly  and  stood  a 
minute  like  one  utterly  amazed,  then  his  face  was  con- 
vulsed with  sudden  fury,  his  full  lips  curled  back  from 
strong,  white  teeth,  and  uttering  a  snarling,  inarticulate 
sound,  he  caught  up  a  heavy  walking  cane  and  strode 
towards  me,  whereupon  I  retreated  so  precipitately  that  my 
heel  catching  in  the  worn  floor-covering,  I  tripped  and 
fell;  then,  or  ever  I  could  rise,  he  stooped  and  catching 
me  in  merciless  hands,  shook  me  like  the  savage  monster  he 
was  and  dragging  me  across  the  floor,  hurled  me  into  the 
passage;  lying  breathless  and  half-stunned,  I  heard  the 
slam  of  the  door,  the  rattle  of  a  bolt  and  thereafter 
the  sound  of  his  voice,  hoarse  and  muffled  and  very  evil 
to  be  heard.  I  was  upon  my  knees  and  groping  for  my 
hat  when  powerful  arms  caught  me  and  lifted  me  to  my 
feet. 

"  Why,  Perry  —  curse  and  confound  it ! "  exclaimed 
Anthony.  "What  in  the  name  of  —  " 

He  broke  off  suddenly  and  I  felt  the  arm  about  me 
grow  tense  and  rigid  as  from  beyond  the  bolted  door  the 
harsh  voice  reached  us,  fiercer,  louder  than  before. 


54  Peregrine's   Progress 

"  Let  you  go  back  —  and  be  laughed  at  for  a  fool  ?  Not 
I!  Little  fool.  .  .  .  No,  by  God  .  .  .  weep  your  eyes  out 
...  we  're  as  good  as  married  .  .  .  to-morrow  morning 
.  .  .  come  here  .  .  .  obey  me  — " 

"  God ! "  exclaimed  Anthony  between  shut  teeth. 

"  And  the  door  is  bolted ! "  said  I. 

"  No  matter !    Out  o'  my  way !  " 

I  saw  him  leap,  saw  his  foot  shoot  out,  heard  a  rending 
crash  and  next  moment  he  was  in  the  room  and  I  behind 
him.  The  man  in  the  blue  spencer  was  in  the  act  of 
locking  the  door  of  the  inner  room  and  stood,  his  hand 
upon  the  key,  glaring  at  us  beneath  drawn  brows. 

"  What  the  devil !  "  quoth  he,  and  snatching  the  stick 
where  it  lay  on  the  table,  turned  upon  Anthony  with  the 
weapon  quivering  in  his  big  fist.  "  Out  of  this ! "  he 
snarled.  "  Back  to  the  mud  that  bred  you  —  d'  ye  hear !  " 

"  One  moment ! "  said  Anthony,  his  grey  eyes  very 
wide  and  bright.  "  There  is  a  lady  in  the  room  yonder 
and  the  doors  are  devilish  flimsy,  otherwise  I  should  en- 
deavour to  describe  the  kind  of  thing  you  are  —  I  intend 
very  shortly  to  tread  on  you,  but  first  — 

I  saw  the  heavy  stick  whirl  high,  to  fall  whistling  on 
empty  air  as  Anthony,  timing  the  blow,  sprang  lightly 
aside,  then  leapt  heavily  in  with  stiffened  arm  and  fist 
that  smote  the  scowling  face  reeling  back  to  the  wall. 
And  now  rose  sounds  evil  to  hear,  fierce-panted  oaths,  the 
trampling  of  quick,  purposeful  feet,  and  a  dust  wherein 
they  swayed  and  smote  each  other  in  desperate,  murderous 
fashion ;  sickened  by  this  beastly  spectacle  I  shrank  away, 
then  ran  to  catch  up  the  flickering  lamp  and  with  this 
grasped  in  tremulous  hands,  waited  for  the  end.  They 
were  down  at  last,  rolling  upon  the  floor;  then  I  saw  the 
shabby,  weather-beaten  figure  was  uppermost,  saw  this 
figure  reach  for  and  grasp  the  heavy  cane,  saw  the  long 
arm  rise  and  fall,  heard  a  muffled  groan,  a  sharp  cry,  a 
shout  of  agony;  but  the  long  arm  rose  and  fell  untiring, 
merciless,  until  all  sounds  were  hushed  save  for  a  dull 
moaning  and  the  monotonous  sound  of  blows. 


The  "Jolly  Waggoner"  Inn      55 

"  Anthony  —  for  God's  sake  —  don't  kill  him !  "  I 
cried. 

'*  Murder  —  sometimes  —  virtue ! "  he  gasped.  At  this 
I  set  down  the  lamp  in  a  safe  place  and,  running  in, 
caught  that  merciless  arm,  commanding  and  beseeching  in 
turn.  "Right,  Peregrine  —  loose  my  arm  —  he's  had 
about  —  enough  —  besides,  I'm  devilish  blown!" 

So  I  loosed  him  and,  standing  back,  saw  beyond  the 
door  a  throng  of  pale,  fearful  faces,  that  parted  suddenly 
to  make  way  for  a  short,  squat  man  who  carried  a 
blunderbuss.  Anthony  saw  him  too,  for  in  a  moment  he 
was  up  and,  thrusting  hand  into  his  bosom,  drew  thence 
a  small  pistol. 

"  Put  down  that  blunderbuss ! "  he  commanded ;  where- 
upon, after  a  momentary  hesitation,  the  squat  fellow 
stepped  forward  and  laid  it  sulkily  upon  the  table. 
"  Here,  Peregrine,"  said  Anthony,  "  take  this  pistol  and 
keep  'em  quiet  while  I  walk  on  this  scoundrel  a  little ! " 
Unwillingly  enough,  I  took  the  weapon,  while  Anthony 
forthwith  stood  upon  his  prostrate  antagonist  and  pro- 
ceeded very  deliberately  to  wipe  his  villainous-looking 
boots  upon  the  gentleman's  fine  blue  spencer;  this  done, 
he  stepped  down  and  beckoned  the  squat  man  to  ap- 
proach, who  came  in,  though  very  unwillingly,  and  closely 
followed  by  the  ostler  and  postillion. 

"  'Ave  ye  killed  the  pore  soul?  "  questioned  the  squat  fel- 
low, eyeing  the  prostrate  man  very  much  askance. 

"Alas,  no  —  so  I  will  ask  you  and  these  good  fellows 
to  carry  him  out  and  lay  him  in  the  horse-trough  —  " 

"  'Orse- trough  ?"  exclaimed  the  landlord. 

"  Horse-trough !  "  nodded  Anthony. 

"  Not  us ! "  answered  the  landlord. 

"  Think  again !  "  said  Anthony,  taking  up  the  blunder- 
buss. 

"Ye  mean  t'  say  — "  began  the  landlord. 

"  Horse-trough !  "  said  Anthony,  levelling  the  ungainly 
weapon. 

"  Come  on,  master,"  quoth  the  ostler,  "  'e  du  be  a  mor- 


56  Peregrine's   Progress 

tal  desp'rit  cove  for  sure!  An*  what's  a  little  water; 
't  will  du  un  good !  "  So  in  the  end  they  raised  the  groan- 
ing man  and  bore  him  forth,  followed  by  Anthony  with 
the  blunderbuss  across  his  arm.  And  presently  from 
without  came  a  splash,  a  fierce  sputtering  and  a  furious 
torrent  of  gasping  oaths,  which  last  sound  greatly  re- 
lieved me ;  and  now,  what  with  this  and  the  excitement  of 
the  whole  affair,  I  sank  down  in  a  chair,  trembling  from 
head  to  foot  and  my  head  bowed  upon  my  hands.  But 
hearing  a  light  footstep,  I  looked  up  to  behold  the  lady, 
a  bewitching  vision  despite  red  eyes  and  pallid  cheeks, 
where  she  stood  surveying  me  —  then  all  at  once  she  came 
forward,  impetuous,  her  hands  clasped. 

"  Oh,  sir,  how  can  I  ever  thank  you  —  and  my  nose  so 
red  and  my  eyes  so  dreadfully  bleared!" 

And  in  the  extremity  of  her  gratitude  I  believe  this 
beautiful  young  creature  would  have  knelt  to  me  but  that  Z 
caught  and  held  her  hands  in  mine;  and  it  was  at  this 
moment  that  Anthony  strode  in,  still  a  little  breathless  by 
reason  of  his  late  exertions. 

"  Oh,  Peregrine  —  "  he  began  and  stopped,  for  at  sight 
of  him  the  lady  shrank  closer  to  me,  viewing  him  with 
terrified  eyes,  as  indeed  well  rhe  might,  for  now,  in  addi- 
tion to  the  woeful  misery  of  his  garments  and  stubble 
of  beard,  his  wild  and  desperate  appearance  was  height- 
ened by  a  smear  of  blood  across  his  pallid  cheek.  "  Ah ! " 
said  he,  beholding  her  instinctive  gesture  of  aversion. 
"  Pray  assure  madam  that  in  spite  of  my  looks  she  has 
nothing  to  fear!"  and  with  one  of  his  grand  obeisances 
he  turned  to  go,  but  in  that  moment  I  had  him  by  the 
sleeve. 

"  Madam,"  said  I,  bowing  to  her  as  she  stood  viewing 
us  with  startled  eyes,  "  I  have  the  honour  to  present  your 
deliverer  and  my  friend,  Mr.  Anthony  Vere-Manville ! " 
And  now  I  saw  that  her  eyes  indeed  were  very  beautiful. 
So  I  turned  away  and  left  them  together. 


CHAPTER  yn 

WHITE  MAGIC 

REACHING  the  other  room  I  found  the  squint-eyed  maid 
had  set  forth  our  supper — a  goodly  joint  of  cold 
beef  flanked  by  a  loaf,  cheese  and  a  jug  of  ale.  A  mere 
glance  at  this  simple  fare  reminded  me  how  extraordinary 
was  my  hunger  which  I  was  greatly  tempted  to  satisfy 
then  and  there,  but  checked  the  impulse  resolutely  and 
sat  down  to  wait  for  Anthony.  Nevertheless  my  gaze 
must  needs  wander  from  crusty  loaf  to  mellow  cheese  and 
thence  to  juicy  beef  so  that  I  was  greatly  tempted  to 
begin  there  and  then  but  schooled  my  appetite  to  patience. 
At  last  in  strode  Anthony  who,  seizing  my  hand,  shook  it 
heartily. 

"Peregrine,"  said  he,  staring  very  hard  at  the  beef, 
"  what  perfectly  glorious  hair  —  " 

"Hair?"  said  I. 

"  So  silky,  Peregrine,  and  —  ripply." 

"Ah!"  said  I,  glancing  from  the  beef  to  his  ecstatic 
face.  "You  mean  —  " 

"  To  be  sure  I  do ! "  said  he,  and  shook  my  hand  again. 

"  And  her  eyes  —  you  must  have  observed  her  eyes  ?  " 

"  Somewhat  red  and  swollen  —  " 

"Tush!"  said  he,  and  catching  my  hand  again,  led 
me  to  a  small  and  dingy  mirror  against  the  wall. 

"  An  ill-looking  scoundrel ! "  he  exclaimed,  pointing  to 
his  reflection.  "  A  miserable  wretch,  a  friendless  dog,  and 
Peregrine,  I  tell  you  she  stooped  to  trust  this  scoundrel, 
to  touch  this  wretch's  hand,  to  speak  gentle  words  to  this 
homeless  dog.  She's  a  saint,  begad — a  positive  angel 
and  —  oh,  stab  my  vitals  —  she'g  hungry  and  I  forgot 
it  —  " 

"So  am  I,  Anthony  —  so  are  you —  and  here's 
supper  — '.' 


5  8  Peregrine's   Progress 

"Where?"  he  enquired,  still  lost  in  contemplation  of 
his  villainous  reflection. 

"  On  the  table,  of  course." 

"  Dammit,  what  a  repulsive  object  I  look ! "  he  groaned. 
"And  yet,  what  matter?  Yes — it's  just  as  well  she 
should  have  seen  me  at  my  very  worst !  And  yet  —  these 
cursed  bristles !  I  tell  you  she  's  an  angel,  Perry ! " 

"And  hungry,  Anthony." 

"So  she  is,  sweet  soul!"  he  exclaimed  and  was  gone 
as  he  spoke,  to  reappear  in  another  moment  ushering  in 
our  fair  guest,  whose  mere  presence  and  dainty  grace 
seemed  to  make  the  dingy  chamber  more  sweet  and  home- 
like. 

"  Madam,"  said  I,  taking  up  the  carving-knife  and 
bowing  as  she  seated  herself  between  us,  "  I  fe.ir  we 
can  offer  you  but  the  very  simplest  of  fare,  but  if  you 
are  hungry  —  " 

"Ravenous,  sir!"  said  she,  with  a  little  upward  motion 
of  the  eyes  that  I  thought  very  engaging.  "  I  have  eaten 
nothing  since  I  ran  away  this  morning  —  " 

"  And  this  beef  cuts  very  well ! "  said  I.  And  so  we 
began  to  eat  forthwith,  speaking  but  seldom  (and  An- 
thony not  at  all)  until  our  hunger  was  somewhat  appeased. 

More  than  once  I  had  noticed  her  bright  eyes  flit  from 
the  elegance  of  my  garments  to  the  ruin  of  Anthony's; 
at  last  she  spoke: 

"  And  you  are  —  two  friends,  I  understand  ? "  she 
questioned. 

"  Yes,  madam,"  answered  Anthony,  "  of  about  six 
hours  standing.  My  friend  Mr.  Vereker  found  me  upon 
the  road  and  took  pity  on  my  destitution.  It  is  to  Pere- 
grine we  are  indebted  for  the  food  we  eat  —  " 

"  And  to  Anthony  for  your  safety.  As  to  friendship," 
I  pursued,  "  it  is  a  gift  of  heaven,  greater  than  time 
and  born  in  a  moment  —  and  this  I  hope  may  endure 
as  long  as  time,  because  Anthony  is  the  only  friend  I 
possess." 

Now  at  this  she  leaned  back  and  glanced  at  us  beneath 


White   Magic  59 

wrinkled  brows  for  a  moment,  then  suddenly  and  with 
sweet  impulse  she  reached  out  a  hand  to  each  of  us. 

"  Then  let  us  all  be  friends,"  said  she,  "  for  I  am 
lonely  too!" 

So  for  a  long  moment  we  sat  thus,  hand  in  hand,  and 
neither  speaking.  "  And  now,"  said  she  at  last,  "  since 
we  are  friends,  I  want  you  to  know  how  I  came  to  run 
such  risks.  I  am  Barbara  Knollys,  and  my  father  wishes 
me  to  marry  a  man  I  hate,  so  I  determined  to  run  away 
to  my  aunt  Aspasia,  because,  though  I  fear  my  father, 
my  father  fears  aunt  Aspasia  more.  Captain  Danby 
offered  to  escort  me  to  aunt's  house  at  Sevenoaks,  but 
once  I  was  in  his  chaise  I  grew  afraid  of  him  and  instead 
of  following  the  high  road  he  drove  by  desolate  lanes 
and  —  oh,  he  was  hateful  and  so  at  last  we  came  here. 
And  now  you  say  that  Caotain  Danby  has  gone?"  she 
enquired  of  Anthony. 

"  Quite !  "  said  he  a  little  grimly.  "  He  is,  I  believe, 
snug  in  bed." 

"I  trust,  sir,  you  —  didn't  —  hurt  him  —  more  than 
was  — •  necessary  ?  " 

"  Rest  assured  of  it,  madam." 

"Heaven  is  very  kind  to  have  brought  me  out  of  such 
danger  and  set  me  safe  in  the  care  of  —  gentlemen,"  said 
she,  glancing  from  one  to  other  of  us. 

"Rest  assured  of  this  also,  madam!"  said  I,  while 
Anthony  looked  from  her  to  me  with  shining  eyes.  At 
this  moment  we  started,  all  three,  as  borne  to  our  ears 
came  the  distant  rumble  of  thunder,  followed  by  a  fierce 
wind-gust  that  rattled  crazy  door  and  lattice  and,  dying 
in  a  dismal  wail,  left  behind  the  mournful  sound  of  pat- 
tering rain. 

"  O  heavens ! "  exclaimed  our  companion,  clasping 
slender  hands.  "A  storm  —  and  I  am  terrified  of 
thunder — " 

"It  will  soon  pass!"  said  I. 

"But  I  must  start  at  once!"  she  faltered.  "I  must 
reach  my  aunt's  house  to-night." 


60  Peregrine's   Progress 

"  There  is  the  chaise ! "  suggested  Anthony. 

"  Ah,  no,  no  —  impossible !  "  she  cried.  "  The  chaise 
was  engaged  by  Captain  Danby  and  the  postillion  is  in 
his  pay  —  " 

"The  chaise  shall  be  ready  whenever  you  desire,"  said 
Anthony,  rising,  "  and  the  postillion  shall  drive  you 
wherever  you  appoint  if  —  if  you  can  trust  yourself 
to  the  care  of  such  a  —  a  down-at-heels  rogue  as  — • 
myself." 

"  Mr.  Anthony,"  said  she,  very  gravely,  "  this  morning 
I  was  a  foolish  girl  —  to-night  I  am  a  woman — my  ad- 
venture has  taught  me  much  —  and  a  woman  always  knows 
whom  she  may  trust.  And  you  are  a  friend  and  a  gentle- 
man, and  one  I  can  trust,  and  so  I  accept  your  offer  most 
thankfully."  Saying  which,  she  reached  out  her  hand  to 
him  and  with  such  a  look  as  made  me  half  wish  myself 
in  Anthony's  place.  So  he  took  her  hand,  made  as  though 
to  raise  it  to  his  lips,  then  loosed  it  and  stood  with 
bowed  head,  seemingly  lost  in  contemplation  of  his 
broken  boots. 

"  Thanks ! "  he  mumbled.     "  I  —  I  —  thank  you ! " 

"  Now  I  must  prepare  for  the  road ! "  said  she  and 
sped  away  with  never  so  much  as  a  glance  at  me,  leaving 
Anthony  staring  after  her  like  one  in  a  dream,  and  I  saw 
his  eyes  bright  with  unshed  tears. 

"  Perry !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  O  Perry  —  did  you  hear 
her?  "  And  crossing  to  the  little  mirror  he  stood  to  behold 
his  reflection  again.  "  She  has  given  me  back  my  self- 
respect  ! "  said  he.  And  then,  "  Oh,  for  a  barber ! "  he 
groaned.  "  Damn  this  stubble.  I  look  like  an  accursed 
gooseberry!  And  now  for  the  chaise,  she  must  be  safe 
with  her  aunt  to-night,  sweet  soul.  And  she  trusts  me, 
Perry  —  me!"  Here  he  turned  to  scowl  at  his  reflection 
again.  "An  angel!"  he  murmured. 

"But  Anthony,  if  one  of  the  horses  has  cast  a  shoe  —  " 

"Shoe?"  he  repeated  dreamily.  "The  prettiest,  dain- 
tiest shoe  in  all  Christendom.  I  noticed  it  particularly 
as  she  stood  there  —  on  that  old,  worn  mat  —  " 


White  Magic  61 

Seeing  him  so  lost,  I  ventured  to  shake  his  arm  and 
repeat  my  query,  whereupon  he  roused  and  nodded. 

"  To  be  sure,  Perry,  to  be  sure !  We  must  persuade 
our  ostler  and  postboy  to  find  us  another  —  let  us  see  to 
it  forthwith !  "  So  saying,  he  picked  up  Captain  Danby's 
heavy  cane  and  with  it  gripped  in  purposeful  hand,  led 
the  way  from  the  room. 


CHAPTER  VHI 

I  AM   LEFT   FORLORN 

AT  the  extreme  end  of  a  narrow  and  somewhat  dingy 
passage  we  came  on  a  door,  from  behind  which  proceeded 
a  din  of  voices  in  loud  confabulation,  together  with  much 
jingling  of  glasses,  so  that  I  judged  the  worthies  we 
sought  were  engaged  upon  what  I  believe  is  known  as 
"  making  a  night  of  it." 

This  hoarse  babel  ended  suddenly  as,  opening  the  door, 
Anthony  strode  in,  his  whole  person  and  attitude  sugges- 
tive of  that  air  I  have  already  mentioned  as  one  of  polite 
ferocity. 

"  Aha ! "  said  he,  feet  wide-planted,  Captain  Danby's 
stout  cane  bending  in  his  powerful  hands.  "  How  far  is 
it  to  Sevenoaks,  pray?" 

"  Better  nor  seven  mile ! "  answered  the  surly  landlord, 
setting  down  his  spirit-glass. 

"  Ah,  all  o'  that ! "  nodded  the  ostler  over  his  tankard. 

"Every  bit!"  added  the  postboy. 

"  An'  'oo  might  you  be  ?  "  demanded  an  individual  in 
top-boots,  a  large  man  chiefly  remarkable  for  a  pair  of 
fierce,  black  whiskers  and  a  truculent  eye. 

"  Seven  miles ! "  exclaimed  Anthony,  unheeding  his  in- 
terrupter. "  I  had  feared  it  shorter  —  oh,  excellent !  Now 
my  lads,  we  require  the  chaise  —  up  with  you,  set  to  the 
horses  and  be  ready  to  start  in  ten  minutes  at  most.  Come 
—  bustle!" 

"  Lord ! "  exclaimed  Black  Whiskers.  "  You  'd  think  'e 
was  a  nearl  or  a  jook  to  'ear  un  —  'oo  is  'e?" 

"  Why,  it 's  'im  as  we  was  tellin'  you  of,  Mr.  Vokes ! " 
quoth  the  landlord. 

*'  'Is  werry  own  selluf !  "  nodded  the  postboy. 

"The  desp'rit  cove  as  gie  me  the  one-er!"  added  the 
ostler. 


I   am   Left   Forlorn  63 

"Aye,  Mr.  Yokes,"  continued  the  landlord  with  unc- 
tion, "  this  is  'im  as  committed  the  'ssault  an'  battery  on 
'is  betters." 

"Oh,  is  it?'*  said  Mr.  Vokes,  nodding  in  highly  men- 
acing fashion. 

"  Ah ! "  nodded  the  landlord.  "  An'  then  goes  for  to 
make  us  go  for  to  nigh  drownd  the  pore,  unfort'nate 
genelman  in  my  own  'oss-trough,  an'  'im  now  a-sneezin' 
an'  a-groanin'  an'  a-swearin'  in  bed  fit  to  break  your 
'eart.  'Ere  be  the  desp'rit  rogue  as  done  the  deed ! " 

"  Oh,    is    it ! "    repeated    Black    Whiskers,    scowling. 
"Why,  very  well,  then  —  'ere's  to  show  'im  'oo's  *oo!" 
and  he  reached  for  a  heavy  riding- whip  that  lay  on  the 
floor  beside  him. 

"Sit  still,  Mr.  Vokes  —  remain  seated,  lest  I  pink 
you ! "  commanded  Anthony,  saluting  him  with  the  Cap- 
tain's cane  as  if  it  had  been  a  sword.  The  man  Vokes 
stared,  swore  and  rose  up,  whip  in  hand,  whereupon  An- 
thony lunged  gracefully,  thrusting  the  cane  so  extremely 
accurately  into  the  middle  of  Mr.  Vokes'  waistcoat  that 
he  doubled  up  with  marked  suddenness  and  fell  back  help- 
less in  his  chair,  groaning  and  gasping  painfully. 

"  Now,  my  lads,"  quoth  Anthony  cheerily,  as  he  picked 
up  the  whip,  "  the  word  is  '  horses  '  !  Come,  bustle  now ! " 
and  he  cracked  the  whip  like  a  pistol  shot. 

"Lord  love  me!"  exclaimed  the  landlord,  retreating 
precipitately.  "I  never  see  nothin'  like  this  'ere  —  no, 
never ! " 

"That'll  do,  my  lad,  that'll  do!"  said  Anthony, 
flourishing  the  whip.  "In  six  minutes  or  so  I  expect  the 
chaise  at  the  door." 

"But  I  can't  drive  a  noss  wot's  cast  a  shoe,  can  I, 
sir?"  whined  the  postillion,  his  eye  on  the  whip. 

"You  can  get  another,  my  lad." 

"  Theer  ain't  no  other  'oss  nowhere,  except  Mr.  Vokes' 
mare ! "  quoth  the  ostler. 

"  Then  of  course  Mr.  Vokes  will  be  glad  to  lend  us  his 
mare,  I  'm  sure." 


64  Peregrine's   Progress 

But  here  Black  Whiskers  found  voice  and  breath  for 
a  very  decided  negative,  with  divers  gasping  allusions  to 
Anthony's  eyes  and  limbs.  Hereupon  Anthony  betook 
him  again  to  his  posture  of  escrime,  the  cane-point  levelled 
threateningly  within  a  foot  of  Mr.  Yokes'  already  out- 
raged person. 

"  Fellow,"  said  he,  "  next  time  address  me  as  (  sir '  — 
and  say  '  yes '  ! " 

For  a  moment  the  flinching  Mr.  Vokes  paused  to  eye 
the  levelled  cane,  the  ready  hand  and  fierce  grey  eyes 
behind  it,  then  spoke  the  desired  words  in  voice  scarcely 
audible  by  reason  of  pain  and  passion;  but  they  sufficed, 
the  cane  was  lowered,  the  whip  cracked,  and  forthwith 
into  the  yard  filed  landlord,  ostler  and  postillion  with 
us  at  their  heels.  And  here  by  aid  of  flickering  lanthorns, 
amid  wind  and  rain,  the  horses  were  harnessed  and  put 
to,  the  chaise  brought  to  the  door  where  stood  one  cloaked 
and  hooded  who,  with  Anthony's  ready  assistance,  climbed 
nimbly  into  the  chaise. 

"  Anthony  —  your  pistol !  "  and  I  handed  it  to  him. 
"Take  care/'  said  I,  as  he  thrust  it  carelessly  into  his 
bosom. 

"Tush!"  he  laughed,  "had  it  been  loaded  I  should 
have  blown  out  what  brains  I  have  days  ago ! " 

"Good-bye,  Anthony!"  said  I,  and,  or  ever  he  could 
prevent,  thrust  a  guinea  into  his  hand.  For  a  moment  I 
thought  he  would  toss  it  in  my  face,  then  he  thrust  it 
into  his  pocket. 

"  Egad,  Perry ! "  said  he,  seizing  my  hand  in  his  vital 
clasp.  "You  are  a  devilish  —  likeable  fellow  and  —  d' 
ye  see  —  what  I  mean  is  —  oh,  dammit!  Look  for  me  at 
Tonbridge."  Having  said  which,  he  sprang  down  the 
steps,  entered  the  chaise  and  banged  to  the  door.  But 
now  at  the  open  window  was  a  lovely  face.  "  Good-bye  — 
Peregrine,"  and  with  the  word  she  reached  out  her  hand 
to  me. 

"  Good-bye,"  said  I. 

"Barbara,"  she  suggested. 


I  am  Left  Forlorn  65 

"Good-bye,  Barbara!"  said  I,  and  lifted  the  hand  to 
my  lips. 

"  At  Tonbridge,  Perry !  "  repeated  Anthony. 

"  At  Tonbridge !  "  said  I,  whereupon  the  postillion  vitu- 
perated the  rain  and  wind,  chirruped  to  his  horses,  and 
the  chaise  rolled  away  into  the  tempestuous  dark. 

For  them,  rain  and  wind  and  darkness,  for  me  such 
comfort  as  the  inn  afforded,  but  of  the  three  it  was  I 
who  was  desolate  and  forlorn. 


CHAPTER  IX 

DESCKIBES  THE  WOES  OF  GALLOPING  JERRY,  A  NOTORIOUS 
HIGHWAYMAN 

"AN*  now  —  wot  about  my  door?"  demanded  a  gruff 
voice.  Starting,  I  turned  to  find  the  landlord  at  my  elbow 
and  immediately  my  forlornness  grew  intensified.  I  felt 
miserably  helpless  and  at  a  loss,  for  the  man's  sullen  face 
seemed  to  hold  positive  menace  and  I  yearned  mightily 
for  Anthony's  masterful  presence  beside  me  or  a  little 
of  his  polite  ferocity. 

"Come  —  wot  about  my  door?"  demanded  the  land- 
lord, more  threatening  than  ever.  "Ten  shillin'  won't 
mend  my  door — " 

"  What  door?  "  I  questioned,  fronting  his  insolent  look 
with  as  much  resolution  as  I  could  summon. 

"  The  door  as  you  an'  that  desp'rit  villain  broke  be- 
twixt ye  —  fifteen  shillin'  —  ah,  a  pound  won't  pay  for 
the  mendin'  o'  my  door  —  wot  about  it  —  come !  "  Here 
he  lurched  towards  me,  shoulders  hunched,  chin  brutally 
out-thrust  so  that  I  shrank  instinctively  from  him,  per- 
ceiving which,  he  grew  the  more  aggressive. 

"  That  will  do ! "  said  I  in  woefully  feeble  imitation  of 
Anthony's  masterful  manner.  "  That  will  do  —  and  what 
is  more  —  " 

"Oh,  will  it  do?    Wot  about  my  door?" 

"You  may  charge  it  in  your  bill  — " 

"  Not  me,  by  goles !  'T  is  money  as  I  wants  —  thirty 
shillin'  —  in  my  'and  —  this  'ere  very  moment." 

"I  intend  to  stay  the  night,  so  will  you  please  have 
a  fire  lighted  in  your  best  —  " 

"  Thirty-five  shillin  's  the  word  —  in  my  'and  —  this 
moment  —  my  fine  little  gent  —  that 's  wot ! " 

Feeling  myself  quite  powerless  to  cope  with  this 
drunken  creature,  I  shrank  before  him,  trembling  with 


The  Woes  of  Galloping  Jerry    67 

mingled  rage  and  disgust;  perceiving  which,  he  scowled 
the  fiercer  and  thrust  a  hairy  fist  into  my  face.  Threat- 
ened thus  with  bodily  harm,  I  glanced  hastily  over  my 
shoulder  with  some  wild  notion  of  ignominious  flight,  but 
dignity  forbidding,  I  stood  my  ground  sick  with  appre- 
hension and  with  my  sweating  hands  tight-clenched. 

"  Smell  it ! "  quoth  the  landlord,  setting  his  fist  under 
my  nose.  "Which  is  it  t'  be,  —  forty  shillin*  or  this?" 

I  was  groping  for  my  purse  when  over  my  shoulder 
came  a  large,  plump,  red  hand  that  took  my  scowling 
aggressor  by  an  ear  and  tweaked  it  till  he  writhed,  and 
turning,  I  beheld  the  large,  plump  woman  who,  putting 
me  aside,  interposed  her  comfortable  bulk  before  me. 

"Oh,  Sammy,"  sighed  she  reproachfully.  "You  been 
a-drinkin'  again  —  shame  on  ye  to  go  a-frightin'  an* 
a-scarin'  this  poor  child.  Go  an'  put  your  wicked  'ead 
under  the  pump  this  instant,  you  bad  boy.  As  for  you, 
my  pore  lamb,  never  'eed  'im;  'e  bean't  so  bad  when  'e's 
sober.  Come  your  ways  along  o'  me,  dearie."  And  folding 
me  within  one  robust  arm  she  brought  me  into  that  room 
that  was  half  bar  and  half  kitchen.  , 

"  There !  "  she  exclaimed,  leading  me  to  the  great  settle 
beside  the  fire.  "  Sit  ye  there,  my  lamb,  and  never  mind 
nobody.  Lor'  !  You  be  a-shiverin*  an'  shakin'  like  a 
little  asp,  I  declare.  Poor  child ! "  sighed  she,  gustily 
commiserate,  and  patting  my  head  with  her  great  plump 
hand.  "Pore  little  soul  —  never  mind,  then!" 

"  Madam,"  said  I,  somewhat  overwhelmed  by  her  solici- 
tude, "  I  am  not  so  very  —  so  extreme  youthful  as  you 
deem  me." 

"  Ain't  you,  lovey?  " 

"Indeed,  no!    I  am  nineteen." 

"Nineteen,  dearie  —  lor',  an'  you  s'  small  an'  all — " 

"I  am  five  feet  three  —  almost!" 

"  Are  ye,  dearie  —  lor'  !  But  then  I  'm  s*  big,  most 
other  folks  seems  small  to  me  —  'specially  men  —  men  is 
all  children  —  'specially  my  man.  Which  do  mind  me. 
Sammy,"  she  called,  "go  into  the  wash'us  an'  let  Susiej 


68  Peregrine's  Progress 

pump  on  ye.     Susie,  jest  you  pump  water  on  your  mas- 
ter's 'ead — this  moment." 

"  Yes,  ma'm  ! "  And  presently  sure  enough,  from  some- 
where adjacent  rose  the  clank  of  a  pump  to  the  accom- 
paniment of  much  splashing  and  gasping. 

"That'll  do,  Susie!" 

"Yes,  ma'm." 

"Now  you,  Sammy,  go  an*  lie  down  —  this  momen't. 
'E  '11  be  all  right  arter  this,  dearie.  Susie ! " 

"  Yes,  ma'm." 

'  "Go  light  a  fire  for  this  young  genelman  in  Number 
Four.     This  moment." 
,  "Yes,  ma'm." 

"  The  best  chamber  but  one,  dearie.  And  a  feather 
bed !  "  All  this  as  she  bustled  to  and  fro,  and  very  quietly 
despite  her  size,  while  I  sat  gazing  into  the  fire  and  heark- 
ening to  the  patter  of  rain  on  the  windows  and  the  wind 
that  howled  dismally  without  and  rumbled  in  the  wide 
chimney  so  that  I  must  needs  wonder  how  it  fared  with 
the  travellers  and  if  I  should  ever  see  either  of  them  again. 

"  You  look  very  lonesome,  dearie !  "  remarked  the  land- 
lady at  last,  with  a  large  wooden  spoon  in  her  hand. 
"  Can  I  get  ye  any  think  ?  A  drop  o'  kind  rum  or  nice 
brandy —  or  say  a  glass  o'  purl  —  a  drop  o*  purl  took 
warm  would  be  very  comfortin'  for  your  little  inside." 

"Thank  you  —  no!"  said  I,  a  little  shortly.  "But  if 
you  could  oblige  me  with  pen,  ink  and  paper,  I  should  be 
.grateful." 

"  Why,  for  sure,  though  I  'm  afraid  the  pen 's  broke." 

"I'll  cut  another." 

"  Ye  see  there  ain't  much  -writm*  done  'ere,  'cept  by 
me  with  my  B-e— t-y  for  Betty  and  S-a-m-i-e  for 
Samuel."  So  saying,  she  presently  set  out  the  articles 
in  question;  then,  having  made  shift  to  cut  and  trim  a 
new  point  to  the  quill,  I  wrote  as  follows : 

NOBLEST  AND  BEST  OF  AUNTS: 

It  is  now  an  eternity  of  twenty-four  hours  since  I  left  the 
secure  haven  of  your  loving  care.  Within  this  space  I  have 


The  Woes  of  Galloping  Jerry       69 

found  the  world  more  wonderful  than  my  dreams  and  man 
more  varied  than  a  book.  I  have  also  learned  to  know  my- 
self for  no  poet  —  it  remains  for  me  to  convince  myself  that 
I  am  truly  a  man. 

As  to  my  sudden  departure,  I  do  beg  you  to  banish  from 
your  mind  any  doubt  of  my  deep  love  and  everlasting  grati- 
tude to  you,  the  noblest  of  women,  believe  rather  I  was 
actuated  by  motives  as  unselfish  as  sincere.  Writing  this, 
I  pray  that  though  this  separation  pain  you  as  it  does  me, 
it  may  yet  serve  to  bring  to  you  sooner  or  late  a  deeper  hap- 
piness than  your  great  unselfish  heart  has  ever  known.  In 
which  sincere  hope  I  rest  ever  your  grateful,  loving 

PEREGRINE. 

P.S.  I  shall  write  you  of  my  further  adventures  from 
time  to  time. 

I  was  in  the  act  of  folding  my  epistle  when  I  started, 
for  above  the  lash  of  rain  and  buffeting  wind,  it  seemed 
that  some  one  was  hailing  from  the  road.  Presently,  as 
I  listened,  I  heard  a  mutter  of  rough  voices  without,  a 
tramp  of  feet,  and  the  door  swung  suddenly  open  to  admit 
two  men,  or  rather  three,  for  between  them  they  dragged 
one,  a  short,  squat  fellow  in  riding  boots  and  horseman's 
coat,  but  all  so  torn  and  bedraggled,  so  foul  of  blood  and 
mire,  as  to  seem  scarce  human.  His  hat  was  gone  and 
his  long,  rain-soaked  hair  clung  in  black  tangles  about 
his  bruised  face  and  as  he  stood,  swaying  in  his  bonds,  I 
thought  him  the  very  figure  of  misery. 

"  House !  "  roared  one  of  his  captors.  "  House  —  ho !  " 
In  response  the  landlady  entered,  followed  by  her  sullen 
spouse  (somewhat  sobered  by  his  late  ablutions)  and  the 
man  Vokes. 

"  Lor*  ! "  exclaimed  the  landlord,  plump  fists  on  plump 
hips  and  eyeing  the  newcomers  very  much  askance.  "  An* 
what  might  all  this  be?  " 

"Thieves,  missus —  a  murderin'  'ighwayman — Gallop- 
ing Jerry  'isself  —  a  bloody  rogue —  " 

"'E  looks  it!"  nodded  the  landlady.  "Bleedin*  all 
over  my  clean  kitchen,  'e  be.  Take  'im  out  t"  barn  —  " 


70  Peregrine's   Progress 

"  Not  us,  ma'm,  not  us  —  'e  's  nigh  give  us  the  slip 
once  a'ready,  dang  'ira!"  Saying  which,  the  speaker 
kicked  the  poor  wretch  so  that  he  would  have  fallen 
but  for  the  wall,  whereupon  the  man  Yokes  laughed  and 
nodded. 

"  Ecod !  "  quoth  he.  "  I'm  minded  to  try  my  boots  on 
'im  myself." 

"Not  you,  Mr.  Yokes!"  said  the  landlady.  "No  one 
ain't  a-goin'  t'  kick  nobody  in  my  kitchen,  and  no  more 
I  don't  want  no  murderin'  'ighwaymen  neither  —  so  out 
ye  go." 

"  Not  us,  missus,  not  us !  We  be  officers  —  Bow  Street 
officers  —  wi'  a  werry  dangerous  criminal  took  red  'anded 
an'  a  fifty-pound  reward  good  as  in  our  pockets  —  so 
'ere  we  be,  an'  'ere  we  bide  till  mornin'.  Lay  down,  you ! " 
Saying  which  he  fetched  the  wretched  captive  a  buffet 
that  tumbled  him  into  a  corner  where  he  lay,  his  muddy 
back  supported  in  the  angle.  And  lying  thus,  it  chanced 
that  his  eye  met  mine,  a  bright  eye,  very  piercing  and 
keen.  Now  beholding  him  thus  in  his  helplessness  and 
misery,  I  will  confess  that  my  very  natural  and  proper 
repugnance  for  him  and  his  past  desperate  crimes  was 
greatly  modified  by  pity  for  his  present  deplorable  situ- 
ation, the  which  it  seemed  he  was  quick  to  notice,  for  with 
his  keen  gaze  yet  holding  mine,  he  spoke,  albeit  mumbling 
and  somewhat  indistinct  by  reason  of  his  swollen  lips: 

"  Oh,  brother,  I  'm  parched  wi'  thirst  —  a  drink  o' 
water  —  " 

"Stow  ye  gab!"  growled  the  man  Tom.  "Gi'e  him 
one  for  'is  nob,  Jimmy."  But  as  his  nearer  captor  raised 
his  cudgel,  I  sprang  to  my  feet. 

"That'll  do!"  I  cried  so  imperatively  that  the  fel- 
low stayed  his  blow  and  turned  to  stare,  as  did  the  others. 
"  You  've  maltreated  him  enough,"  said  I,  quite  beside 
myself;  "if  he  desires  a  little  water  where 's  the  harm; 
he  will  find  few  enough  comforts  where  he  is  going?" 
And  taking  up  a  jug  of  water  that  chanced  to  be  near 
Li  approached  the  poor  wretch,  but  ere  I  could  reach 


The  Woes  of  Galloping  Jerry    71 

him,  the  man  Tom  interposed,  yet  as  he  eyed  me  over, 
from  rumpled  cravat  to  dusty  Hessians,  his  manner  un- 
derwent a  subtle  change. 

"No,  no,  young  sir  —  can't  be  —  I  knows  a  genelman 
when  I  sees  one,  but  it 's  no  go  —  Jerry  's  a  rare  desperate 
cove  an'  oncommon  sly  —  " 

"  Then  give  him  the  water  yourself  —  " 

"  Not  me,  sir ! " 

"  I  tell  you  the  man  is  faint  with  thirst  and  ill-usage  —  " 

"  Then  let  'im  faint.  A  young  gent  like  you  don't 
want  nothin'  to  do  wi'  th'  likes  o'  'im  —  let  'im  faint  —  " 

At  this  I  set  down  the  jug  and  taking  out  my  purse, 
extracted  a  guinea. 

"Landlord,"  said  I,  tossing  the  coin  upon  the  table, 
"  a  bottle  of  your  best  rum  for  the  officers  —  a  bowl  of 
punch  would  do  none  of  us  any  harm,  I  think." 

"  Lor'  ! "  exclaimed  the  landlady,  sitting  down  heavily. 

"  By  goles ! "  quoth  the  landlord,  reaching  for  the 
guinea. 

"  Allus  know  a  genelman  when  I  sees  one ! "  said  the 
man  Tom,  making  a  leg  to  me  and  knuckling  shaggy 
eyebrow.  So  they  suffered  me  to  take  the  water  to  their 
prisoner,  who  drank  avidly,  his  eyes  upraised  to  mine  in 
speechless  gratitude. 

"  Don't  believe  'em,  brother,"  he  whispered  under  cover 
of  the  talk  where  the  others  clustered  around  the  hearth 
watching  the  preparations  for  the  punch ;  "  don't  believe 
'em,  friend  —  I  'm  no  murderer  an'  my  pore  old  stricken 
mother  on  'er  knees  for  me  this  night,  an'  my  sweet  wife 
an*  babbies  weepin'  their  pretty  eyes  out,  an'  all  for  me. 
I  'm  a  pore  lame  dog,  brother,  an'  here 's  a  stile  as  be 
'ard  to  come  over ;  howsomever,  whether  't  is  sweet  wind 
an'  open  road  for  me  by  an'  by,  or  Tyburn  Tree  —  why 
God  love  ye  for  this,  brother ! " 

Here  he  closed  his  eyes  and  bowed  his  head  as  one  in 
prayer,  for  I  saw  his  swollen  lips  moving  painfully,  then 
glancing  up,  beheld  the  man  Jimmy  watching  us. 

"Wot's  Jerry  a-s  ay  in'  of,  sir?"  he  questioned.  . 


72  Peregrine's   Progress 

"  Praying,  I  believe." 

"  More  like  cursing.  Jerry 's  a-flamming  o'  ye,  young 
sir.  An'  the  punch  is  ready  at  last."  So  while  the  storm 
raged  outside,  we  sat  down  at  the  table  beside  the  hearth 
where  glasses  were  filled  from  a  great  bowl  of  steaming 
brew  and  forthwith  emptied  to  my  very  good  health.  And 
now  to  the  accompaniment  of  howling  wind  and  lashing 
rain,  the  Bow  Street  officers  recounted  the  history  of 
Galloping  Jerry's  capture. 

"  'T  were  this  evenin'  as  ever  was  just  about  dark,  on 
the  'ill  yonder.  About  'arf  way  up  there 's  a  biggish  tree, 
an*  we  was  a-layin'  for  'im  there,  Jimmy  an*  me,  wi'  our 
barkers  ready,  'avin'  been  given  the  office.  Presently  we 
'ears  the  sound  o'  hoofs  an'  down  'ill  easy-like  comes  a 
mounted  cove.  'It's  'im!'  says  I.  'Sure?'  says  Jimmy. 
'  Sartin,'  says  I,  *  I  knows  'im  by  'is  'at ! '  *  Werry  good ! ' 
says  Jimmy,  an'  lets  fly  an'  down  comes  the  'oss  'eadfirst, 
squealin'  like  a  stuck  pig,  an*  away  down  'ill  shoots  Jerry, 
rollin'  over  an'  over,  an'  then  we  was  on  'im  wi'  our 
truncheons  an'  we  give  'im  wot  for  —  eh,  Jimmy?" 

"  Ar !  "  quoth  Jimmy.     "  We  did ! " 

"And  a  werry  pretty  little  job  it  were  —  eh,  Jimmy?" 

"  Ar !  "  quoth  Jimmy.     "  It  were !  " 

"Considerin'  'im  such  a  werry  desp'rit  cove  an*  all  — 
an*  a  pair  o'  popps  in  'is  'olsters  as  long  as  your  arm  — 
they're  in  the  pockets  o'  my  greatcoat  yonder  —  you  can 
see  'em  stickin*  out.  Yes,  a  sweet,  pretty  bit  o'  work  as 
ever  we  done,  eh,  Jimmy  ?  " 

"  Ar  —  though  'e  floored  you  once." 

"Aye  —  that  was  when  'e  slipped  off  the  darbies  — 
Oh,  a  desp'rit  cove  an*  the  more  credit  to  us !  A  desp'rit 
villain  —  slipped  th*  darbies,  'e  did,  an'  us  was  forced  to 
truss  'im  wi'  rope." 

Here  every  one  vied  in  expressions  of  acclaim  and  all 
eyes  turned  to  that  shadowy  corner  where  the  prisoner 
sat  crouched  in  the  same  posture,  bloody  head  bowed 
feebly  on  bowed  breast.  And  now,  as  the  glasses  emptied 
and  were  refilled  (with  the  exception  of  mine),  we  heark- 


The  Woes  of  Galloping  Jerry    73 

ened  to  tales  of  horrid  murders  and  ghastly  suicides,  of 
gruesome  deeds  and  bloody  affrays  of  hunters  and  hunted 
until  the  landlady  gasped  and,  calling  the  maid  for  com- 
pany, went  off  to  bed,  while  the  men  turned  to  stare  un- 
easily behind  them  and  I  myself  felt  my  flesh  creep.  But 
as  the  great  bowl  emptied,  tongues  began  to  stutter,  and 
in  the  midst  of  a  somewhat  incoherent  reminiscence  of 
Tom's,  the  man  Vokes  snored  loudly,  whereupon  Tom 
blinked  and  pillowing  his  bullet  head  on  the  table, 
promptly  snored  also ;  and  glancing  drowsily  around 
upon  the  others,  I  saw  they  slumbered  every  one.  Here- 
upon I  rose,  minded  to  seek  my  chamber,  but  before  I 
reached  the  door  I  was  arrested  by  a  hoarse  whisper: 

"Brother— for  th'  love  o'  God!" 

Peering  towards  the  captive,  I  saw  him  upon  his  back, 
his  face  ghastly  in  the  shadow.  "  Oh,  brother,"  he  whis- 
pered faintly,  "  I  think  I  'm  a-dyin' !  Show  kindness  to 
a  dyin'  man  an'  ease  my  poor  arms  a  bit."  Moved  by 
pity  for  his  misery  and  seeing  how  cruelly  he  was  bound, 
I  contrived,  with  no  small  ado,  to  loosen  his  bonds  some- 
what, whereupon  he  blessed  me  faintly  and  closed  his  eyes. 
"If  ye  could  bring  me  a  drop  more  water,  death  'ud 
come  easier,"  he  whispered. 

So  I  rose  and,  coming  to  the  table,  found  the  jug 
empty,  therefore  out  I  went  to  the  place  beyond  where 
I  judged  was  the  pump,  and  here  found  a  bucket  brim- 
ming with  water  wherewith  I  filled  the  jug.  Creeping 
back  to  the  kitchen,  I  stopped  at  once,  my  heart  thump- 
ing, for  to  my  wonder  and  dismay  I  beheld  the  prisoner 
on  his  feet,  free  of  his  bonds  and  rubbing  and  chafing  his 
wrists  and  hands  and  arms.  Then  all  at  once  this  pitiful 
creature  leapt  to  swift  and  terrible  action,  for  at  one 
bound,  as  it  seemed,  he  had  reached  the  chair  where  hung 
the  officer's  greatcoat,  whipped  forth  and  cocked  the 
pistols  and  with  these  murderous  things  levelled  in  his 
hands,  crept  upon  the  sleepers.  The  jug  slipped  from  my 
nerveless  hold  and,  roused  by  the  crash  of  its  fall,  the 
man  Tom  lifted  his  head  only  to  stare  dazedly  into  the 


74  Peregrine's   Progress 

nearest  pistol  muzzle  and  the  awful  scowling  face  behind 
it;  while  the  highwayman,  reaching  out  his  second  pistol, 
awoke  Mr.  Vokes  with  a  smart  rap  on  the  crown,  where- 
upon, cursing  drowsily,  he  sat  up,  clasping  his  hurt  and 
immediately  sank  cowering  in  his  chair,  which  action 
roused  the  landlord  who  stared,  gasped  a  feeble  "  Lorra- 
mighty ! "  and  sat  motionless. 

"  Norra  word !  "  quoth  the  highwayman.  "  Let  a  man 
s*  much  as  whisper  an'  I  blow  that  man's  face  off.  Ah, 
an'  by  hookey,  I  would,  whether  or  no,  if  I  was  th'  bloody 
rogue  ye  tell  me  for,  'stead  of  an  'ighly  respectable  genel- 
man  o'  the  road  with  a  eye  to  business.  So  now  turn  out 
your  pockets  all  —  an'  quick  about  it." 

It  was  strange  to  see  with  what  apparent  eagerness 
each  man  stripped  himself  of  such  valuables  as  he  pos- 
sessed, all  of  which  the  highwayman  appraised  with  ex- 
pert eye. 

"Young  master,"  quoth  he,  beckoning  to  me  with  a 
flourish  of  his  nearest  pistol,  "  come  you  here ! "  Trem- 
bling I  obeyed  and  at  his  command  transferred  the  spoil  to 
the  capacious  pockets  of  his  muddy  coat  —  in  I  thrust 
them  with  unsteady  fingers,  —  rings,  purses,  a  couple  of 
watches,  silver  snuff  and  tobacco  boxes,  etc. :  which  done, 
he  bade  me  fetch  the  ropes  that  had  bound  him. 

"  Now  you,"  quoth  he,  tapping  the  flinching  Tom's 
bristly  cheek  with  his  pistol  barrel,  "  you  're  a  likely  cove 
at  tying  knots  —  get  to  work,  my  lad,  and  sharp  it  is!" 

So  under  his  watchful  eye,  Tom  proceeded  to  bind  his 
companions  very  securely  to  their  chairs,  which  done, 
the  highwayman  again  summoned  me  and  commanding 
Tom  to  remove  his  belt,  constrained  me  to  bind  the 
officer's  arms  behind  him  therewith  and  scarce  knowing 
what  I  did,  I  lashed  the  man  Tom  fast  to  his  chair.  This 
done,  the  highwayman  showed  me  how  I  must  gag  them 
and  when  this  had  been  done  to  his  satisfaction,  he 
nodded : 

"  And  now,"  quoth  the  highwayman,  his  battered  fea- 
tures twisted  in  a  wry  smile  as  they  sat  thus  gagged  and 


The  Woes  of  Galloping  Jerry    7  5 

helpless,  "  hearken  all.  If  I  was  the  murderous  cove  you 
name  me,  I  might  cut  your  throats  as  ye  sit,  which  would 
be  a  j'y,  or  I  might  shoot  ye  or  set  the  place  afire  an' 
roast  ye,  'stead  o'  which  I  spits  on  an*  leaves  ye.  An* 
now,  young  master,  for  your  own  sake  —  come  along  o* 
me ;  they  '11  likely  be  arter  you  too  for  this  as  a  accom- 
plice o'  the  fact.  So  come  along  o'  Jerry  an'  damn  their 
eyes  an'  limbs,  say  I ! "  With  which,  having  stayed  to 
kick  Mr.  Yokes  and  the  two  Bow  Street  officers,  he  thrust 
pistols  into  pockets  and  seizing  me  in  powerful  grip, 
hurried  me  away. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF   THE   SAME 

THE  storm  had  passed  and  I  remember  the  moon  was 
shining  as,  turning  our  backs  upon  the  silent  inn  of  the 
"  Jolly  Waggoner,"  we  made  off  along  the  road  at  a  good, 
sharp  pace.  And  now,  what  with  the  stillness  of  the 
night  and  the  strange  happenings  of  the  last  few  hours 
and  the  wild  figure  of  the  highwayman  who  seemed  even 
more  grim  and  terrifying  by  moonlight,  my  overwrought 
emotions  brought  on  me  a  nausea  of  horror  and  faintness 
so  that  I  stumbled  more  than  once,  whereupon  my  com- 
panion, tightening  his  grip,  dragged  me  on,  cursing  me 
heartily;  so  that,  contrasting  his  brutality  with  my  aunt 
Julia's  tender,  loving  care  and  my  desperate  plight  with 
the  luxurious  security  of  home,  I  felt  all  at  once  the  hot 
smart  of  tears  and  so  fell  to  a  silent  passion  of  grief  and 
yeaniing. 

Thus  we  tramped  on  some  while,  the  highwayman  and 
I,  until,  having  mastered  this  weakness  somewhat,  I  ven- 
tured to  steal  a  glance  at  him  and  immediately  forgot 
my  own  grief  in  stark  wonder  and  amaze  to  behold  him 
weeping  also,  for  upon  his  scarred  cheek  the  moon  showed 
me  the  gleam  of  tears,  and  even  as  I  stared  he  rubbed  at 
his  eyes  with  hairy  knuckle,  sniffed  and  cursed  softly.  So 
great  was  my  astonishment  that  I  stopped  to  stare  at 
him,  whereupon  he  stopped  to  scowl  at  me. 

"Well?"  he  enquired  gruffly.     "An'  what  now?" 

"You  —  can  shed  tears  also,  then?"  said  I. 

"Well,  an*  why  not?"  he  demanded.  "Can't  a  cove 
grieve  now  an'  then  if  he 's  a  mind  to  ?  " 

"  But  you  're  a  highwayman  ! " 

"Which  seein'  you  say  so,  I'll  not  deny,"  said  he. 
"  So  I  '11  trouble  you  for  your  purse  an'  also  your  ticker 
—  an'  sharp  's  the  word ! "  And  speaking,  he  whipped  a 


The  Philosophy  of  the  Same     77 

pistol  beneath  my  chin,  whereupon  I  delivered  up  the  ar- 
ticles named  as  quickly  as  my  consternation  would  allow. 
"  And  now,"  said  he,  pocketing  my  erstwhile  property 
and  seizing  my  arm  again,  "  come  on,  friend,  an'  let  this 
be  a  warnin'  never  to  disturb  a  'ighwayman  wot  grieves." 

"Why  do  you  grieve?" 

"FormyChloe!" 

"Your  wife?" 

"  Wife  —  no !  Never  'ad  a  wife  —  never  shall.  There 's 
no  woman  breathin'  could  ekal  my  Chloe  for  love  an' 
faithfulness  —  used  to  nibble  my  'air,  she  did,  poor  lass ! " 

"Nibble  your  hair?"  I  repeated.  "Pray  who  was 
she?" 

"  My  mare,  for  sure  —  my  pretty  mare  as  'ad  n't  'er 
ekal  for  speed  nor  wind  —  my  mare  as  they  Bow  Street 
dogs  shot  an'  left  to  bleed  'er  life  out  in  the  mud  an'  be 
damned  to  'em." 

"Then  the  tale  of  your  wife  and  babies  weeping  for 
you  was  untrue?  " 

"Every  word  of  it,  friend.  An'  what  then?  A  man's 
apt  to  say  anything  to  save  'is  neck  —  now  ain't  'e? 
Would  n't  you?" 

Now  at  this  I  was  silent  and  we  walked  for  a  while 
with  never  a  word. 

"And  your  mother?"  I  questioned  at  last.  "Your 
mother  praying  for  you  —  was  that  also  untrue?" 

"My  mother,"  said  he,  lifting  his  face  to  the  radiant 
moon,  "my  mother  died  three  years  ago  —  on  her  knees 
—  prayin'  for  me  —  an'  it 's  like  enough  she 's  on  'er 
knees  afore  th'  Throne  a-prayin'  for  me  this  werry 
minute." 

"And  yet  you  are  a  —  highwayman?" 

"Why,  friend,  'tis  in  the  family,  y'see.  My  father 
was  one  afore  me  an'  uncommon  successful  —  much  looked 
up  to  in  'is  perfession,  though  a  little  too  quick  o*  th' 
trigger  finger  —  but  'e  was  took  at  last,  'ung  at  Tyburn 
an'  gibbeted  on  Blackheath.  They  took  me  to  see  'im 
in  'is  chains,  an'  bein'  only  a  little  lad,  I  cried  all  the 


7  8  Peregrine's   Progress 

way  back  'ome  to  my  mother  an'  found  'er  a-cryin'  too. 
But  because  'e  'd  been  so  famous  in  'is  perfession  they 
gibbeted  'im  very  'igh,  an'  so,  as  folk  'ad  looked  up  to  'im 
in  life  they  did  the  same  in  death." 

"  Yours  is  a  very  evil,  dangerous  life,"  said  I,  after 
a  while. 

"Evil?"  he  repeated.     "Well,  life  mostly  is  evil  if  ye 
come  to  think  on  it.     An*  as  for  danger  —  't  's  so-so  — 
three  times   shot,   six  times   in  jail   an'  many   a   rousin' 
gallop  wi'  the  hue  an'  cry  behind.     But  arter  all  'tis 
my  perfession  an'  there  's  worse,  so  what  I  am  I  '11  be." 
"And  will  you  let  your  mother  pray  in  vain?  " 
"In  vain,"  he  repeated,   "in  vain?     Why,  blast  the 
Pope,  hasn't  she  saved  me  from  bein'  scragged  many  a 
time  —  didn't  she  save  me  t'  night?  " 

"  Does  n't  she  pray  rather  that  you  may  turn  honest?  " 

"Honest!"  quoth  he,  spitting.     "Let  them  be  honest 

as  can!     An'  look  'ee,  my  lad,  I'll  tell  ye  what  —  you 

leave  my  dead  mother  alone  or  't  will  be  the  worse  for 

ye." 

Having  uttered  which  threat  he  strode  on,  scowling  and 
snorting,  now  and  then,  in  a  very  disturbing  manner,  so 
that  I  ventured  no  further  remark  and  we  walked  a  great 
way  in  silence  until,  suddenly  venting  a  snort  fiercer  and 
louder  then  ever,  he  spoke: 

"Honest!"  he  ejaculated.  "Honest  —  why,  curse 
your  carkis,  who  are  you  to  talk  o'  honesty?  D'  ye 
know  as  you  're  liable  to  be  took  by  any  o'  these  honest 
uns  —  took  an*  appre'ended  as  my  accomplice  afore  an' 
arter  the  fact —  d'  ye  know  that?" 

"God  help  me!"  I  ejaculated,  in  agonised  dismay, 
"  Oh,  heaven  help  me !  " 

"  Let 's  'ope  so ! "  he  nodded  grimly.  "  Meantime,  I 
intend  to  do  a  bit  for  ye  that  way  meself — seein'  as 
you  'elped  me  t'night  wi'  that  cursed  knot.  I'  d  managed 
'em  all  but  one  an'  that  were  out  o'  reach  —  so  because 
n'  that  theer  knot  an'  my  good  mother,  I  'm  a-goin'  to  — 
do  the  best  I  can  for  ye." 


The  Philosophy  of  the  Same     79 

"How  —  when  —  what  do  you  mean?"  I  questioned 
eagerly. 

"  Never  you  mind,  only  I  am  —  an'  no  man  can  say 
honester  or  fairer,  an'  I  'm  a-goin'  t'  do  my  best  for 
ye  because,  bein'  the  son  o'  my  blessed  mother,  I  'm  that 
tender-'earted  that,  though  I  'm  th'  son  o'  my  feyther  I  've 
knowed  myself  to  drop  a  tear  in  the  very  act  o'  business. 
She  were  an  old  lady  in  a  pair-'oss  phaeton  wi'  plenty  o' 
sparklers  an'  nice  white  hair:  a  rosy  old  creetur,  com- 
fortably plump  and  round  —  'specially  in  front.  '  O 
Mr.  'ighwayman ! '  says  she,  weepin'  doleful  as  she  tipped 
me  'er  purse  an'  the  shiners,  *  'ow  could  ye  do  it? ' 
'Ma'm,'  I  says,  wipin'  my  eyes  wi'  my  pistol-'and  — 
'ma'm,  I  don't  know  —  but  do  it  I  must!'  An'  I  rode 
away  quite  down-'earted."  Here  he  turned  to  regard  me 
with  his  wry  smile. 

Thus  we  held  on,  by  field  paths  and  narrow  muddy 
tracks  until  the  moon  was  down  and  I  was  stumbling  with 
weariness.  At  last,  my  strength  almost  spent,  we  en- 
tered a  wood,  a  dismal  place  where  a  mournful  wind 
stirred,  where  trees  dripped  upon  me  and  wet  leaves 
brushed  my  face  like  ghostly  fingers,  while  rain-sodden 
underbrush  and  bracken  clung  about  my  wearied  limbs. 
Through  this  clammy  dreariness  I  followed  my  tireless 
companion  until  suddenly  his  dim  form  vanished  and  I 
was  groping  amid  damp  leaves;  but  through  this  dense 
thicket  came  his  hand  to  seize  and  drag  me  on  until 
I  found  myself  in  a  place  of  utter  darkness. 

"  Stand  still !  "  he  commanded. 

A  moment  after  I  heard  him  strike  flint  and  steel  and 
presently  he  lighted  a  candle-end  by  whose  welcome  beam 
I  saw  we  stood  in  a  roomy  cave.  And  an  evil  place  I 
thought  it,  full  of  unexpected  corners,  littered  with  all 
manner  of  odds  and  ends  and  divers  misshapen  bundles. 
Having  set  down  the  candle,  the  highwayman  drew  a  dingy 
blanket  before  the  cave  mouth  and  turned  to  scowl  at  me, 
eyeing  my  shrinking  person  over  from  dripping  hat  to 
sodden  boots;  and  well  might  I  shrink,  for  surely  few 


8o  Peregrine's   Progress 

waking  eyes  have  beheld  such  a  wild  and  terrifying  vision 
as  he  presented,  his  battered  face,  his  garments  mired 
and  torn,  his  hands  hidden  in  the  pockets  of  his  riding- 
coat. 

"Tyburn  Tree!"  said  he  suddenly.  "The  nubbing 
cheat !  'T  is  there  I  'm  like  to  go  one  o'  these  days  an* 
all  along  o'  my  kind  'eart  —  with  a  curse  on  't.  There 
were  only  three  men  in  this  'ard  world  as  knew  o'  this 
'ere  refuge,  an'  Ben  Purvis  was  shot  three  year  ago  an 
poor  Nick  Scrope  swings  a-top  o'  River  Hill  —  which 
left  only  me.  An*  now  'ere  's  you  —  curse  on  my  kind 
'eart,  says  I!" 

"  Indeed  —  oh,  indeed  you  may  trust  me  —  " 

"W'y,  there  it  is  —  I  must  trust  you,  blast  my  kind 
'eart,  I  says!  But  look  now,  my  cove,  this  here  cave 
being  as  ye  might  say  the  secoor  *aven  of  a  pore  soul 
as  the  world  don't  love  —  if  you  should  ever  peach  to 
a  nark  or  speak  a  word  of  it  to  the  queer  coves,  why  then 
this  pore  soul  will  come  a-seekin'  till  you  're  found  an* 
blow  your  danged  face  off." 

Hereupon  I  broke  into  such  fervent  protestations  of 
secrecy  as  seemed  to  satisfy  him,  for  he  turned,  and  from 
a  roughly  constructed  cupboard  took  a  black  bottle  and 
two  mugs ;  having  filled  the  mugs  he  passed  one  to  me  and, 
raising  the  other  to  his  lips,  nodded: 

"Happy  days,  pal!"  said  he;  and  so  we  drank  to- 
gether. The  potent  spirit  warmed  and  comforted  me 
despite  the  misery  of  wet  boots  and  damp  clothes,  and 
seated  on  a  box  I  was  already  half-asleep  when  his  grip 
on  my  shoulder  roused  me  and,  starting  up,  I  saw  he 
had  undone  one  of  the  bundles  and  spread  the  contents 
before  me  on  the  floor,  namely:  a  rough  jacket,  cord 
breeches,  woollen  stockings  and  a  pair  of  stout,  clumsy 
shoes.  "Get  'em  on!"  he  commanded.  So  because  I 
needs  must,  I  obeyed;  and  though  these  rough  garments 
fitted  me  but  ill,  I  found  them  warm  and  comfortable 
enough. 

"  You  '11  do ! "  he  nodded.    "  Roll  ye'self  in  the  mud  an' 


The  Philosophy  of  the  Same     81 

your  own  mother  '11  never  know  ye.  An*  now  —  off  wi' 
you ! " 

"  Do  you  mean  —  I  must  go  ? "  said  I,  aghast  and 
shivering  at  the  recollection  of  the  dreary  wilderness  out- 
side. 

"  Aye,  I  do  so ! "  quoth  he,  seating  himself  on  the  small 
barrel  that  served  him  as  a  chair. 

"  And  will  you  send  me  away  destitute  —  without  a 
penny?" 

At  this  he  was  silent  awhile,  head  bowed  as  one  in  pro- 
found thought,  then  groping  in  his  capacious  pocket,  he 
at  last  drew  forth  my  purse,  stared  at  it,  weighed 
it  on  his  palm  and  suddenly  thrust  it  into  my  hand; 
then  as  I  stood  amazed  beyond  speech,  he  took  out  my 
watch. 

"  Gold ! "  he  muttered,  as  if  to  himself.  "  A  gold  tattler 
as  would  bring  me  —  take  it  an'  be  damned!"  saying 
which  he  thrust  it  savagely  upon  me. 

"This  —  this  is  generous  —  "  I  began. 

"Norra  word!"  he  growled.  "They  said  my  feyther 
was  a  rogue  an'  hanged  him  according,  but  my  mother  was 
a  saint  as  went  back  to  heaven,  so  if  you  must  thank 
anybody,  thank  'er  memory.  An'  now  off  wi'  ye,  lest 
minding  my  feyther,  I  take  'em  back  again." 

Hereupon  I  made  haste  to  be  gone,  but  reaching  the 
blanket  at  the  cave  mouth,  I  turned  and  came  back  again. 

"  Good-bye,  Galloping  Oerry !  "  said  I,  and  held  out  my 
hand. 

Now  at  this  he  drew  in  his  breath  sharply  and  sat 
scowling  at  my  outstretched  hand  as  though  it  had  been 
something  very  rare  and  curious ;  at  last  he  raised  his 
keen  eyes  to  my  face  in  quick,  strange  scrutiny. 

"Why,  Lord  love  my  eyes!"  he  exclaimed,  like  one 
greatly  amazed,  "  Lord  love  my  eyes  and  limbs !  "  Then, 
all  at  once,  he  took  my  hand,  gripping  it  very  hard,  and 
i  held  it  thus  a  long  moment,  loosing  it  as  suddenly ;  and  so 
I  turned  and,  lifting  the  blanket,  went  out  into  the  dreary 
desolation  of  the  wood. 


82  Peregrine's   Progress 

On  the  misery  of  this  night's  wanderings  I  will  not 
dwell;  let  it  suffice  to  say  that,  sick  and  reeling  with 
weariness  and  lack  of  sleep,  I  came  at  sunrise  upon  a 
barn  into  which  I  crept  and  here,  with  no  better  couch 
than  a  pile  of  hay,  I  was  thankful  to  stretch  my  aching 
body,  and  so  fell  into  a  deep  and  dreamless  slumber.  / 


CHAPTER  XI 

WHICH  PEOVES  BEYOND  AI/L  ARGUMENT  THAT  CLOTHES 
MAKE  THE  MAN 

I  AWOKE  very  stiff  and  sore  and  full  of  a  black,  oppres- 
sive melancholy  despite  the  bright  sunshine  that  poured 
in  at  every  crack  and  crevice  of  the  old  barn.  To  this 
depression  was  added  sudden  dread  as  I  recalled  the  in- 
cidents of  last  night  and  how  (albeit  unwittingly)  I  had 
favoured  the  escape  of  a  desperate  outlaw,  thus  placing 
myself  in  danger  of  arrest  and  possible  imprisonment. 

At  this  horrid  thought  I  started  up  in  great  perturba- 
tion until  observing  thus  my  clumsy  shoes,  thick  stockings 
and  other  garments  of  my  rustical  disguise,  my  appre- 
hensions abated  somewhat  and  I  sat  down  again  to  ponder 
gloomily  on  my  future  course. 

And  now  leapt  Memory  to  tempt  me,  for  I  must  needs 
think  of  my  aunt  who,  viewed  from  my  present  deep  of 
misery  and  loneliness,  seemed  like  some  goddess  very  high 
and  remote.  I  yearned  bitterly  for  that  passionate,  if 
somewhat  tyrannic,  devotion  to  my  every  need  and  com- 
fort, and  for  the  serene,  untroubled  haven  her  love  and 
mere  presence  had  ever  afforded  me. 

With  the  money  in  my  possession  I  had  but  to  charter 
a  horse  or  vehicle  and  in  a  few  hours  should  be  with  her 
again,  safe  from  all  fears  and  dangers,  secure  from  all 
further  hardships.  Moved  by  this  thought,  I  rose  to 
eager  feet,  but  remembering  the  keen,  critical  eyes  and 
aggressive  chin  of  my  uncle  Jervas,  I  sat  down  again. 

I  remained  thus  some  considerable  time,  torn  between 
these  conflicting  emotions  until  at  last,  clenching  my 
hands,  I  determined  I  would  go  on  and  persevere  in  the 
adventure  at  all  hazards ;  though  I  must  confess  I  came 
to  this  final  decision  more  from  pride  and  fear  of  ridicule 
than  strength  of  character. 


84  Peregrine's   Progress 

I  remember  I  had  just  arrived  at  this  conclusion  that 
was  to  so  vitally  affect  and  change  my  after  life,  when 
the  door  of  the  barn  creaked  suddenly  open  and  a  man 
appeared  who,  espying  me  where  I  sat  crouched  among  the 
hay,  stooped  to  view  me  over.  For  a  moment  I  blinked, 
dazzled  by  the  sun-glare,  then  I  saw  him  for  a  tall,  bony 
man  with  a  long  nose  and  a  ferrety  eye. 

"  Come  out  o'  that ! "  quoth  he,  fondling  the  lash  of  an 
ugly-looking  whip  he  carried.  "  Who  give  you  leave  to 
snore  in  my  barn?  Come  out  of  it!" 

"  Sir,"  said  I,  rising  and  saluting  him  with  a  somewhat 
haughty  bow,  "  I  regret  to  have  trespassed  upon  your 
property,  but  when  I  remind  you  of  last  night's  dreadful 
storm  and  further  inform  you  that  I  was  lost,  you  will,  I 
am  sure  —  " 

"Come  out  of  it  —  d'  ye  hear!"  he  repeated  more 
angrily  then  before.  "  And  don't  try  coming  any  o'  your 
imperence  wi'  me,  my  lad  —  come,  out  ye  go ! " 

"  Willingly !  "  said  I  disdainfully.  "  Permit  me  first  to 
assure  you  that  if  my  sheltering  in  this  barn  has  caused 
any  damage  to  your  property,  I  will  reimburse  you  to 
any  reasonable — " 

"  Get  out  —  ye  damned  young  thieving  gipsy ! "  he 
roared,  and  cut  at  me  fiercely  with  his  whip;  whereupon, 
forgetting  dignity  and  all  else  in  the  sharp,  unaccustomed 
pain,  I  took  to  my  heels  nor  did  I  stop  until  I  was  safe 
beyond  pursuit  and  out  of  sight  of  the  scene  of  my 
humiliation. 

This  incident  (though  I  could  have  wept  for  very  in- 
dignation) served  but  to  make  me  the  more  fixed  in  my 
resolution  to  follow  the  course  I  had  marked  out  for  my- 
self, come  what  might. 

My  present  worldly  possessions  amounted  to  some 
fourteen  pounds  and  a  valuable  gold  watch,  thanks  to 
the  highwayman's  gratitude;  moreover  I  remembered  An- 
thony's promise  to  meet  me  at  Tonbridge  and  this  cheered 
me  greatly.  To  Tonbridge  I  would  go  and  there  await 
his  coming. 


Proves  that  Clothes  Make  the  Man     85 

Musing  thus,  I  was  aroused  by  the  hoof  strokes  of  a 
horse  and,  glancing  up,  beheld  a  plump  man  on  plump 
steed  ambling  towards  me  down  the  lane.  Waiting  until 
he  was  sufficiently  near,  I  stepped  into  the  road  and 
saluted  him. 

"  Good-day,  sir !  "  said  I.  "  Pray  pardon  my  detain- 
ing you,  but  this  neighbourhood  is  strange  to  me.  Will 
you  therefore  have  the  kindness  to  direct  me  to  Ton- 
bridge?" 

The  plump  man  eyed  me  over,  damned  my  impudence, 
and  rode  off  with  never  another  word,  leaving  me  to  stare 
after  him  mute  with  indignation  and  surprise;  and  so  to 
plod  on,  racking  my  brain  to  discover  in  what  particular 
I  could  have  offended. 

I  was  yet  busied  on  this  perplexing  problem  when  I 
espied  a  pleasant-faced  fellow  leaning  over  a  gate;  him 
I  accosted  thus: 

"  Sir,  I  am  a  stranger  hereabouts  and  should  esteem  it 
a  kindness  if  you  would  direct  me  to  Tonbridge."  The 
man  stared,  open-mouthed,  and  hardly  had  I  finished 
speaking  than  he  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed 
loudly. 

"Sir,  why  do  you  laugh?"  I  demanded,  a  little  stiffly. 

"  Good  lad !  "  he  grinned.  "  Ye  be  a  play-actor,  for 
sure?  " 

"Certainly  I  am — not!  Pray  how  may  I  get  to 
Tonbridge?" 

"Why,  like  Gammer  Perkins*  old  sow,"  he  grinned, 
"  one  leg  afore  t'  other !  I  bean't  sich  a  green  'un  as  ye 
think." 

"Thank  you  for  nothing!"  said  I  sharply. 

"  Oh,  ye  can't  make  a  fule  of  I !  "  quoth  he,  grinning. 

"  No,"  I  retorted,  "  Nature  has  done  so  already !  " 

This  seemed  to  tickle  him  mightily  for  some  reason. 

"  By  gum,  but  you  be  a  rare  un,  ecod ! "  he  cried,  slap- 
ping his  leg.  "Gi'e  us  some  more,  lad — I'd  rayther 
laugh  than  eat  any  day  —  sing  us  a  song  —  step  us  a  jig, 
will  'ee  ?  Come,  I  don't  mind  payin'  for  't.  I  du  love  a 


86  Peregrine's   Progress 

good  laugh  an'  I'll  pay.  I  don't  mind  spendin'  a  penny 
—  no  b'  gum,  'ere 's  a  groat  —  there  y'  are !  Now  tip  us  a 
song  or  jig  —  come!"  Saying  which,  he  tossed  the  four- 
penny  piece  into  the  road  at  my  feet.  Now  at  this  I 
grew  angry  beyond  words,  but  he  was  a  large  man,  so 
I  turned  on  indignant  heel  and  left  him  leaning  over  the 
gate  to  stare  from  rue  to  the  despised  coin  and  back  again 
in  open-mouthed  wonderment. 

And  now,  as  I  trudged  on,  my  mind  was  exercised  on 
the  question  as  to  whether  this  part  of  the  world  was 
peopled  only  by  ill-tempered  bullies,  surly  wretches,  or 
bovine  fools.  So  came  I  to  a  place  where  the  ways 
divided  and  I  was  deliberating  which  to  follow  when  I 
heard  a  shrill  whistling  and  glancing  about,  beheld  a 
large  woman  who  talked  very  fast  and  angrily  to  a  small 
man,  who  whistled  extremely  loud  and  shrill,  heeding  her 
not  in  the  least.  Being  come  to  where  I  stood,  the  man 
paused  and  stopped  his  whistling. 

"O  laddie,"  quoth  he,  jerking  grimy  thumb  at  his 
companion,  "will  ye  'ark  to  this  brimstone  witch  —  been 
clackin'  away  all  along  from  Sevenoaks,  she  'ave!  Gimme 
a  tanner  an'  she 's  yourn  —  say  thrippence  —  say  a 
penny!"  At  this  the  woman  started  to  berate  him  again 
and  he  to  whistling. 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  I,  when  at  last  I  might  make  my- 
self heard,  "  will  you  be  so  obliging  as  to  tell  me  the  way 
to  Tonbridge?" 

"Look  at  'im,  Neddy,  look  at  'im!"  cried  the  virago, 
stabbing  bony  finger  at  me.  "Tell  'im  t'  close  'is  trap 
or  it 's  twist  'is  yeres  I  will.  Tell  'im  'e  can't  make  fun 


o    we 

M 


Make  fun  of  you ! "  exclaimed  I,  falling  back  a  pace, 
aghast  at  the  suggestion.  "  Indeed  nothing  was  further 
from  my  intent !  Believe  me,  my  good  woman,  I  —  " 

"  Don't  ye  dare  go  callin'  me  ye  *  good  woman '  in  them 
breeches  an'  ye  shirt  all  tore!  An'  look  at  ye  'at  —  I 
seen  better  on  a  scarecrow,  I  'ave !  You  're  trash  apeing 
y'r  betters  —  poor  trash,  that's  wot  you  are!  Good 


Proves  that  Clothes  Make  the  Man     87 

woman  indeed !     You  tell  'im  wot  we  think  of  'im,  Neddy 

—  tell  'im  plain  an'  p'inted!"     Instantly  the  little  man 
set  thumb  to  nose  and,  spreading  his  fingers,  wagged  them 
at  me  in  a  highly  offensive  manner,  at  the  same  time  ejac- 
ulating the  one  word: 

«  Walker!" 

Which  done,  he  nodded,  the  woman  scowled,  and   so 
they  left  me. 

So  here  it  was,  then,  the  answer  to  this  perplexing  riddle 

—  my  clothes!     Mechanically  I  took  off  my  hat  and  ex- 
amined it  as  I  had  not  troubled  to  do  hitherto  and  saw 
it  for  a  shapeless  monstrosity  faded  to  the  colour  of  dust 
and  with  more  than  one  hole  in  crown  and  brim.     Truly 
I  (like  the  woman)  had  seen  better  on  many  a  scarecrow. 
I  now  stooped  to  survey  as  much  of  my  person  as  pos- 
sible—  my  thick  and  clumsy  shoes,  my  rough  stockings, 
the    old,    cord   breeches    that   disfigured   me,    hideous    in 
themselves  and  rendered  more  so  by  numerous  darns  and 
ill-contrived  patches.     Here  then,  as  it  seemed,  was  the 
explanation  for  the  brutality,  surliness  and  odious  famil- 
iarity I  had  been  subjected  to;  for  my  voice  and  manner 
being  out  of  all  keeping  with  my  appearance,  I  must 
naturally  become  an  object  of  suspicion,  coarse  merri- 
ment, or  aversion. 

Here  I  must  needs  begin  to  realise  and  justly  appreci- 
ate how  very  much  I  had  owed  in  the  past  to  the  excellence 
of  my  tailor,  for,  clothed  in  the  dignity  of  broadcloth 
and  fine  linen  I  had  unconsciously  lived  up  to  them  and 
walked  serene,  accustomed  to  such  deference  as  they  in- 
spired and  accepting  it  as  my  due ;  but  stripped  of  these 
sartorial  aids  and  embellishings,  who  was  to  recognise  the 
aristocrat?  Nay,  his  very  airs  of  birth  and  breeding,  his 
customary  dignity  of  manner  would  be  of  themselves  but 
matter  for  laughter.  To  strive  for  dignity  in  such  a 
hat  was  to  be  ridiculous  and  peering  down  at  the  cord 
breeches,  stockings  and  shoes,  I  knew  that  these  hence- 
forth must  govern  my  behaviour.  But  how  adapt  myself 
to  these  debasing  atrocities?  This  question  proving  un- 


8  8  Peregrine's   Progress 

answerable,  I  determined  to  buy  other  clothes  at  the  first 
opportunity. 

On  I  tramped,  rejoicing  in  the  peaceful  solitude  of 
these  leafy  byways  though,  as  the  day  advanced,  con- 
scious of  a  growing  thirst  and  prodigious  hunger.  At 
last  I  espied  an  inn  before  me  and  hurried  forward;  but 
an  inn  meant  people,  folk  who  would  talk  and  stare  — 
remembering  which,  I  paused,  despite  my  hunger,  and 
half-fearing  to  enter  the  place  by  reason  of  my  clothes. 
As  I  stood  thus,  viewing  the  inn  shyly  and  askance,  a 
man  stepped  from  the  open  doorway  and  came  striding 
towards  me,  a  jovial-faced,  full-bodied  man  who,  catching 
my  eye,  nodded  good-humouredly,  whereupon  I  ventured 
to  address  him. 

"  If  you  please,  sir,"  said  I,  touching  my  hat  respect- 
fully (as  such  a  hat  should  be  touched),  "can  you  tell 
me  the  way  to  Tonbridge?" 

"  I  can,  my  lad,  I  can ! "  quoth  he,  crossing  muscular 
hands  on  the  handle  of  the  thick  stick  he  carried.  "  But 
Tonbridge  is  a  goodish  step  from  here  and  you  look 
tired,  my  lad,  peaked  and  pale  about  the  gills.  Are  ye 
hungry?" 

"Yes,  sir!" 

"Ha,  thought  so!  Must  eat  beef — beef's  the  thing! 
D'  ye  like  beef,  hey?" 

"Yes,  sir!" 

"How  about  pudding — steak  and  kidney  pudding  — 
d'  ye  like  that?" 

"Yes,  sir!" 

"  Good  lad !  So  do  I !  Just  had  some  in  the  'Artichoke* 
yonder  —  all  hot !  Go  and  do  likewise,  my  poor  lad !  Say 
Squire  sent  ye  —  and  eat  hearty ! "  As  he  spoke  he 
reached  into  a  pocket  of  his  smallclothes,  took  out  a 
shilling,  pressed  it  into  my  hand,  nodded  and  strode  away. 


CHAPTER  XH 

THE  PEICE  OF  A  GODDESS 

STOMACH  is  and  ever  has  been  a  mighty  factor  in  the 
affairs  of  mankind:  the  proud  and  lowly,  the  fool  and 
sage,  all  alike  are  slaves  to  its  imperious  dictates.  Let 
it  go  empty,  and  it  is  a  curse,  breeding  cowardice,  gloomy 
suspicions,  unreasonableness,  angers  and  a  thousand  evils 
and  dissensions ;  fill  it  and  it  is  a  comfort,  promoting  good- 
fellowship,  kindliness  and  abounding  virtue.  Hence,  in- 
stead of  saying  of  a  man  —  "He  has  a  good  heart"  — 
should  not  the  dictum  be  rather  —  "  He  is  the  happy  pos- 
sessor of  an  excellent  stomach  regularly  and  adequately 
filled?"  For  truly  how  many  actions,  evil  and  good,  may 
be  directly  traced  to  the  influence  of  this  most  important 
organ!  Thus,  to  your  true  Philosopher,  "the  Stomach 
is  the  thing,"  and  so  long  as  his  own  be  comfortable  he 
may  philosophise  with  stoical  fortitude  upon  other 
people's  woes  (and  occasionally  his  own)  more  or  less 
agreeably ;  but  starve  him  and  our  Philosopher  will  grieve 
for  himself  as  miserably  as  I  —  or  even  you.  The  Tooth 
of  Remorse  may  be  sharp  but  the  Fangs  of  Hunger  bite 
deeper  still,  and  who  shall  cherish  beauty  in  his  soul  or 
who  find  patience  to  rhapsodise  on  a  sunset  when  his 
stomach  is  empty  as  a  drum?  Thus,  alas,  Soul  goes 
shackled  by,  and  Intellect  is  the  slave  of,  Stomach! 

All  of  the  which  foregoing  points  to  the  fact  that  the 
steak  and  kidney  pudding  had  been  excellent,  even  as  my 
benefactor  had  said ;  wherefore,  drowsing  in  somnolent 
content,  I  sat  amid  leaves  beside  a  prattling  rill  musing 
comfortably  as  a  well-fed  young  philosopher  may,  when 
these  reflections  were  banished  in  sudden  alarm,  for  upon 
the  drowsy  afternoon  stillness  rose  a  stir  of  leaves,  a 
snapping  of  twigs,  the  sounds  of  one  who  burst  through 
all  obstacles  in  desperate  flight.  Starting  to  an  elbow  I 


90  Peregrine's  Progress 

gazed  wildly  about  and  thus  espied  a  girl  who,  breaking 
through  the  bushes  that  crowned  the  bank  above,  came 
bounding  down  the  steep.  At  sight  of  me  she  checked 
her  wild  career  and  turned  to  stare  back  whence  she  had 
come,  catching  her  breath  in  great,  sobbing  gasps  very 
distressing  to  hear. 

I  remember  the  round,  full  column  of  her  throat  as 
she  stood  thus,  her  long,  night-black  hair  a  troubled  tor- 
rent stirring  in  the  gentle  wind.  Then  she  swung  about 
to  face  me,  one  hand  upon  her  quick-moving  bosom,  the 
other  grasping  a  small,  evil-looking  knife. 

"Young  man,"  she  panted,  "young  man  —  help 
me—  !" 

As  she  uttered  the  words,  two  men  appeared  on  the 
bank  above  us,  tall,  dark-complexioned  fellows  who 
scowled  down  on  me  in  manner  I  found  exceedingly  dis- 
turbing. "  Oh,  young  man,"  cried  the  girl,  flourishing  her 
knife  and  frowning  up  at  her  pursuers,  "  young  man,  if 
you've  any  manhood  in  ye — stand  up  and  help  me!" 

And  now  the  two  men  began  to  descend  into  the  little 
dell  with  a  certain  deliberation  very  discomforting  to 
witness,  and  I  arose,  greatly  at  a  loss  and  looking  from 
one  to  other  of  them  in  growing  apprehension. 

"Young  man,"  demanded  the  girl  in  scornful  under- 
tones, "why  do  ye  tremble?" 

At  this  moment  (and  to  my  inexpressible  relief)  from 
the  leafy  tangles  adjacent  rose  a  voice,  shrill  and  im- 
perious : 

"  Jochabed  —  Bennigo !  " 

The  men  halted  and,  following  their  gaze,  I  beheld  a 
woman,  ancient  and  bowed  with  years  yet  apparently 
wonderfully  active  none  the  less,  a  strange,  wrinkled  old 
creature  extremely  neat  of  person,  with  keen,  bright  eyes 
and  a  portentous  chin.  Having  descended  the  bank,  she 
stood  leaning  on  the  staff  she  carried,  her  quick  glance 
darting  from  the  men  to  the  girl,  and  the  girl  to  me,  many 
times  over. 

"Oho  —  aha!'*    she    ejaculated    at    last.      "Scant    o* 


The  Price  of  a  Goddess          9 1 

breath  be  I,  tur'ble  scant,  being  s'  very  old — aha  —  but 
age  be  wise ! " 

And  now  she  turned  to  address  the  woman,  though  in 
language  quite  beyond  my  comprehension,  stabbing  her 
staff  at  us  all  four  in  turn. 

"  No,  gammer  —  no!"  cried  the  girl  passionately,  but 
at  the  ancient  woman's  commanding  gesture  she  fell  mute, 
though  she  scowled  in  sullen  defiance  and  I  saw  the  knife 
glitter  where  she  gripped  it,  half  concealed  by  a  fold  of 
her  petticoat.  Here  one  of  the  men  muttered  some  un- 
intelligible word  and  pointed  scornfully  at  me,  whereupon 
the  old  woman  rapped  him  smartly  over  the  knuckles  and 
fixed  her  uncomfortably  shrewd  gaze  on  my  person,  scan- 
ning me  over  very  keenly,  more  especially  my  face  and 
hands. 

"Well,  my  pretty  young  gorgio,"  said  she,  "there  be 
horses  a-sweating  along  o'  you,  eyes  a-looking  and  hearts 
a-grieving  all  along  o*  you  —  though  you  ain't  much  to 
look  at  —  so  —  I  guess  you  be  better  than  ye  look.  Now 
here  be  a  maid  —  a  regular  dimber-damber  dell  as  looketh 
better  than  she  be,  for  her 's  a  gnashing,  tearing  shrew  wi* 
no  kindness  in  her.  But  she  be  handsome  —  as  ye  may 
see  —  and  courted  by  many,  whereby  hath  been  overmuch 
ill-feeling,  fighting  and  bloodshed  among  our  young  men 
—  so  wed  this  day  she  shall  be  for  peace  and  quiet's  sake ! 
Him  as  can  show  most  o'  the  pretty  gold  taketh  her  for 
good,  and  all  according  to  our  laws  and  ways." 

Scarcely  had  she  done  speaking  than  the  two  young 
fellows  hastened  to  count  over  to  her  such  monies  as  they 
possessed,  while  the  girl  watched  sullen  and  defiant. 

"  AJe  —  aie !  "  quoth  the  old  woman  suddenly.  "  Ben- 
nigo,  you  have  but  three  to  Jochabed's  eight,  so  Jochabed 
taketh  her  —  unless  the  nice,  kind,  young  gorgio  will 
give  more  —  the  fine  young  gorgio  as  my  wisdom  telleth 
me  is  other  than  he  do  seem  —  aha !  What  of  it,  young 
master  —  aie  —  aie  ?  " 

'f  Young  man,"  whispered  the  girl,  grasping  my  arm  in 
strong,  compelling  fingers  and  staring  at  me  with  eyes  big 


92  Peregrine's  Progress 

and  desperate,  "  young  man,  if  you  would  not  see  bloody 
work  —  turn  out  your  pockets  ! " 

Moved  by  her  wild  looks,  I  obeyed  almost  involuntarily, 
but  hardly  was  my  purse  out  of  my  pocket  than  she 
snatched  and  tossed  it  to  the  old  woman. 

"  Count,  grannam,  count !  "  she  cried  imperiously,  "  and 
if  'tis  not  enough  I've  my  little  churi  for  the  first  as 
dare  touch  me !  " 

The  old  woman  opened  my  purse,  told  over  its  contents 
very  deliberately,  nodded  and,  thrusting  it  into  her  bosom, 
spoke  with  the  fierce-eyed  men  in  her  strange  dialect, 
tapped  each  with  her  staff  and  motioned  them  to  be  gone ; 
hereupon,  and  to  my  unutterable  wonder,  they  obeyed  her 
and  slunk  off  without  a  word. 

"  Fourteen  guineas  !  "  said  she.  "  Fourteen  guineas  be 
more  than  eight  —  fourteen  guineas,  a  florin,  one  groat 
and  three  pennies !  Aha,  't  is  more  than  she  be  worth,  I 
think,  by  reason  of  her  shrewish  tongue  and  unkindly  ways, 
and  if  only  a  Tmidity  mengro  and  no  true  Camlo  yet  she 
be's  a  rinkinni  fakement  to  look  at,  but  then  a  bargain 
is  a  bargain  —  an*  I  wishes  ye  j  'y  o'  her,  my  young  rye ! ' 
Which  said,  she  reached  out  her  staff  and  touched  first  me 
and  then  the  girl  lightly  on  head  and  breast,  muttering  a 
farrago  of  strange  words  while  her  bright  glance  flashed 
from  one  to  other  of  us ;  then  she  turned  and,  bowed  upon 
her  staff,  climbed  the  ferny  steep  nimble  and  sure-footed 
despite  her  years  and  left  us  staring  after  her,  the  girl 
frowning  and  sullen  as  ever,  I  full  of  chagrined  surprise 
and  a  growing  uneasiness. 


WHICH    TELLS    SOMEWHAT    OF    MY    DEPLORABLE    SITUATION 

AND  after  we  had  stood  thus  some  while  my  companion 
spoke,  though  without  troubling  to  turn  her  head  or  so 
much  as  glance  towards  me: 

"Young  man,  what  now?" 

*4  Why,  now,"  I  answered,  taking  off  my  hat  and  bowing, 
"  I  have  the  honour  to  bid  you  good-bye !  " 

At  this  she  wheeled  quickly  and  stood  viewing  me  over 
with  a  bold,  unwavering  gaze  that  it  seemed  nothing  might 
abash;  and  though  her  eyes  were  large  and  well-shaped, 
yet  I  remember  thinking  them  excessively  unfeminine,  the 
eyes  rather  of  an  ill-natured,  pugnacious  boy;  and  now, 
because  of  the  hard  coldness  of  her  look,  the  unmaidenly, 
calculating  intensity  of  her  regard,  I  grew  very  conscious 
of  my  disfiguring  garments  and  felt  myself  quite  out  of 
countenance. 

"  Why  d'  ye  blush,  young  man?  " 

" Because  you  don't!" 

"And  why  should  I  blush?" 

"  It  would  be  more  maidenly  — ?> 

"  Maidenly  ? "  she  repeated,  and  broke  into  such  a 
mockery  of  laughter  that  I  felt  my  cheeks  indeed  burn  with 
a  painful  effusion  and  turning  abruptly,  I  walked  away 
in  high  dudgeon. 

"  Come  back ! "  she  commanded,  but  I  went  only  the 
faster  and  being  very  earnest  to  rid  myself  of  her,  was 
even  meditating  ignominious  flight,  when  I  heard  the 
leap  of  her  feet  in  pursuit,  felt  her  grip  upon  my  arm 
and  was  checked  thus  so  violently  that  I  was  amazed  at 
the  strength  of  her. 

"Don't  come  your  fine  airs  over  me,  young  man,"  she 
panted  in  hot  anger,  her  full,  red  lips  tight-drawn,  her 


94  Peregrine's  Progress 

great  eyes  dark  and  passionate.     "Don't  do  it!"  she  re- 
peated.    "  Don't  ye  dare !  " 

"  Most  decidedly  not ! "  I  answered,  retreating  before 
her  threatening  mien;  and  thus,  not  caring  to  turn  my 
back  on  this  young  virago,  I  fronted  her  fierce  scrutiny 
with  what  resolution  I  could,  while  devoutly  wishing  myself 
anywhere  else  in  the  world.  And  it  was  now  that  I 
realised  she  was  taller  than  myself  by  fully  an  inch  — 
indeed,  perhaps  a  little  more. 

"  Why  does  ye  stare  so  ?  "  she  demanded. 

I  craved  her  forgiveness  and  lifted  my  offending  gaze 
to  the  leaves  above  her  head  and  maintained  a  dignified 
silence;  whereupon  she  questioned  me  breathlessly, 

"  Now  what  are  ye  thinking?  " 

"  That  the  ancient  person  spoke  truly. " 

"You  means  as  I'm  a  shrew?" 

"  Pray  remember  it  was  not  I  said  so." 

"  But  you  means  so !    Come,  does  ye  or  don't  ye?  " 

"Madam,"  I  began,  very  conscious  of  the  evil  glitter- 
of  her  knife,  "  if  you  will  permit  me  to  —  " 

"  Don't  *  madame '  me,  young  man !  I  don't  like  it 
and  I  won't  be  madamed  by  you  or  any  other  —  so  don't 
dare  —  " 

"  Certainly  not ! "  said  I,  fixing  my  gaze  on  the  leaves 
again.  "  And  may  I  suggest  that  we  might  converse  more 
easily  if  you  would  have  the  kindness  to  put  away  your 
knife?"  * 

"My  little  churi,  d'ye  mean?  Not  I,  young  man, 
not  I!  'T  is  my  best  friend  as  saves  from  evil  more 
than  once!  And  how  do  I  know  as  you  won't  come  any 
games  ?  " 

"  Games  ?  "  I  repeated,  shaking  my  head  in  mystifica- 
tion. "  The  sports  of  youth  never  interested  me  —  in- 
deed, I  never  play  games  —  " 

"  No,"  cried  she,  with  sudden,  shrill  laugh,  "  I  don't 
think  you  do!"  Here  (to  my  startled  amazement)  she 
whipped  short  petticoats  above  her  knee  and  thrust  the 
knife  into  her  garter.  Now  though  my  gaze  was  im- 


Tells  of  my  Deplorable  Situation  95 

mediately  abased  to  earth  I  none  the  less  had  a  memory 
of  an,  exceedingly  wellr-turned  and  shapely  limb. 

"And  so  you  thinks  I  'm  a  shrew,  does  ye?"  she  de- 
manded, head  aslant,  and  hands  on  shapely  hips. 

"  I  think  you  might  perhaps  be  just  a  little  more 
gentle." 

"  Tush,  young  man,  gentleness  don't  serve  a  maid  among 
the  Folk!" 

"What  folk?" 

"  The  Romans." 

"  Romans  ?  "  said  I,  puzzled. 

"Aye,  Romans.    The  Romany,  gipsies,  the  poor  folk." 

"Are  you  a  gipsy,  then?  " 

"  I  guess  so !  Though  old  Azor,  of  the  Romany  rawni 
Camlo,  do  ever  tell  I  'm  no  true  Roman.  So  mayhap  I  'm 
not.  However,  when  I  grows  up  I  takes  to  my  little  knife 

—  by  reason  of  the  chals  —  aye,  and  uses  it  too,  other- 
wise I  might  ha'  been  tamed  by  now  instead  o'  being  free 
to  choose.     Ah,  yes,  I  might  ha'  been  creeping  the  ways 
wi*  some  man's  brat  on  my  shoulders,  to  work  while  he 
slept,  go  hungry  till  he  'd  ate  his  fill  and  slave  for  him 

—  ah,  I  hate  men !  "    And  she  spat  in  contempt  and  very 
coarsely.    Yet  I  could  not  but  notice  how  perfectly  shaped 
was  this  vivid,  scornful  mouth. 

"  So  you  don't  like  me,  young  man,  and  I  do  not  like 
you,  which  is  a  pity,  seeing  you  buys  me  out  o'  the  tribe 
and—" 

"  Bought  you  ! "  I  exclaimed,  utterly  aghast. 

"  Indeed  and  to  be  sure  you  did.  Which  is  what  many 
a  man  has  wished  to  do  ere  this.  However,  according  to 
the  law  of  our  tribe  we  are  mates  —  " 

"  Great  heaven ! "  I  exclaimed  in  such  unfeigned  con- 
sternation that  she  knit  her  black  brows  at  me.  "  Im- 
possible !  "  quoth  I.  "  Ridiculous  —  absolutely  prepos- 
terous !  There  is  no  bond  between  us  —  you  are  free,  quite 
free  —  nay,  I  '11  go  —  now  —  " 

"Are  ye  a  man?"  cried  she  between  snapping  white 
teeth.  "  If  so,  you  '11  be  the  first  as  runs  away  from  me. 


96  Peregrine's  Progress 

And  why  ?  Is  it  that  I  'm  not  good  enough  -r-  fine  enough 
—  handsome  enough — " 

"My  good  girl,  pray  be  reasonable  — "  I  pleaded, 
which  seemed  only  to  enrage  her  the  more  until,  finding 
me  mute  and  so  helpless  against  the  torrent  of  her  wrath, 
she  checked  upon  a  word,  her  red  lips  curved  to  sudden 
smile,  and  her  voice  grew  singularly  and  sweetly  soft. 

"  Poor  young  man,  sit  down  and  let  us  talk,"  said  she, 
as  if  we  hadn't  uttered  a  word  hitherto.  So  willy-nilly 
down  I  sat  facing  her  amid  the  fern  and  very  ill  at  ease. 
"  Poor  young  man,"  said  she  again,  "  don't  go  for  to  look 
so  downcast  over  so  small  a  matter.  Here's  you  and 
here  's  me ;  what 's  done  is  done !  Treat  me  fair  and  you  '11 
find  me  faithful,  quick  with  my  needle,  a  good  hand  at 
cooking  and  not  so  unkind  as  they  tell  o'  me.  Your  life 
shall  be  my  life  and  mine  yours.  Where  you  go  I  '11  follow 
and  belike  it  is  we  shall  get  along  without  overmuch 
fighting  and  bloodshed." 

"  But,"  said  I,  my  brain  whirling,  "  I  had  no  idea  — 
I  —  I  —  never  imagined  anything  of  this  sort  —  the  whole 
situation  is  —  impossible !  " 

"  You  bought  me,  remember ! " 

"Did  I?" 

"  Of  course  you  did ! "  said  she,  looking  at  me  great- 
eyed  and  I  saw  her  lips  quivering.  "You  pays  over  to 
old  Azor  fourteen  guineas,  a  florin,  one  groat  and  three 
pennies."  v. 

"  The  act  was  slightly  involuntary,  as  I  remember ! " 
said  I. 

"  Talk  plain,  young  man,  talk  plain !  *  You  buys  me, 
and  what 's  more,  old  Azor  weds  us  and  makes  me  your 
mort  according  to  the  law  o'  the  Folk." 

"  But  not  according  to  the  laws  of  the  English  Church," 
said  I,  "  and  I  am  not  one  of  the  Folk.  So  you  are  quite 
free :  the  words  of  old  Azor  cannot  bind  me  —  " 

"  But  they  do  bind  me,  young  man,  now  and  hereafter. 
Besides,  you  have  bought  me  away  from  the  tribe  and  I 
may  never  go  back  and  you  can  never  leave  me  solitary." 


Tells  of  my  Deplorable  Situation  97 

Here  I  groaned  and  she  sighed,  but  with  that  quiver  of 
red  lips  that  might  mean  tears  or  laughter. 

"  A  truly  terrible  situation !  "  said  I. 

"It  is,  young  man,  it  is!  Though  it  might  ha'  beea 
worse." 

"How  so?" 

"  Well,  though  I  have  no  liking  for  you,  neither  your 
looks,  nor  your  ways,  nor  your  talk,  you  are  better  than 
Bennigo  and  Jochabed  that  are  very  brute  beasts." 

Now  at  this  I  leapt  to  my  feet  and,  turning  on  indig- 
nant heel,  strode  off,  but  soon  she  was  up  with  me  and  to- 
gether we  presently  came  out  into  the  high  road.  And 
now  as  she  went  beside  me  I  saw  with  added  misgiving  that 
the  sun  was  already  westering. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

IN  WHICH  I  SATISFY  MYSELF  OF  MY  COWAEDICE 

AFTER  we  had  walked  thus  in  silence  for  may  be  a  mile 
or  more,  she  spoke. 

"  Where  are  you  taking  me?  "  she  demanded. 

"  Why  do  you  follow  me  ?  "    I  retorted. 

"  Because  I  must  —  also  it  is  my  whim  —  and  you  so 
wishful  to  be  rid  o'  me !  And  why?"  she  demanded  sullenly. 

"  I  prefer  solitude." 

"  That 's  a  pity !  " 

"  Under  the  circumstances,  it  is !  "    I  agreed. 

"  You  have  n't  said  what  you  mean  to  do  wi'  me ! " 

"Nothing!" 

"  Or  where  you  takes  me  to  ?  " 

"I  don't  know." 

"  You  must  be  a  fool,  young  man.  Where  shall  ye  stay 
the  night?" 

"  I  don't  know  this  either ! " 

"  Lord,  young  man,  you  are  a  fool !  " 

"I  begin  to  suspect  I  am!"  said  I  bitterly.  "How- 
ever, I  wish  you  would  not  call  me  '  young  man.'  " 

"  Why  not,  young  man  ?  " 

"  Because  I  resent  the  appellation." 

"Talk  plain,  young  man.     You  do  what?" 

"  I  strongly  object  to  the  term  *  young  man.'  * 

"But  you  are  a  man,  ain't  you  —  or  something  like 
one?  And  then  you're  young  —  very  young,  I  can  see 
that." 

"  I  am  nineteen  ! " 

*'  And  I  am  eighteen  and  years  older  than  you !  But  if 
you  don't  like  '  young  man '  what  must  I  call  ye?  " 

"  Whatever  you  please,"  said  I  stiffly. 

"I  called  ye  *  fool '  just  now,  but  that  won't  do,  seeing 
there 's  s'  many  about,  so  I  think  you  shall  be  *  Tom '  —  " 


I  Satisfy  Myself  of  my  Cowardice  99 

"My  name  is  Peregrine!"  said  I  in  sudden  wrath.  For 
a  moment  she  viewed  me  with  her  direct,  half-sullen  gaze, 
then  drooping  dark  lashes,  laughed  with  a  flash  of  strong 
white  teeth. 

"  Hoity-toity !  Don't  be  angry,  Joe !  "  she  mocked ; 
and  then :  "  Peregrine,"  said  she,  as  if  trying  the  sound 
of  it.  "  *  Peregrine '  sounds  very  fine  but  then  it  don't  agree 
wi'  your  looks  —  yes,  I  thinks  Tom  will  suit  ye  better  — 
or  Sam,  p'raps." 

To  this  I  deigned  no  answer  but  trudged  on  in  moody 
silence,  endeavouring  to  formulate  some  method  of  escape 
from  this  outrageous  creature  and  so  absorbed  that  I 
paid  not  the  least  heed  to  her  foolish  chatter  until  sud- 
denly and  most  unpleasantly  roused  by  the  touch  of  her 
fingers  on  my  ear  which  she  tweaked  none  too  gently. 
This  extraordinary  familiarity  bred  in  me  such  indignant 
disgust  that  I  sprang  from  her  touch  to  stand  dumb  and 
trembling  with  fury. 

"  What,"  cried  she,  wilfully  mistaking  these  tremors, 
"  did  I  fright  him  then !  Lord,  how  he  do  tremble !  Oh, 
young  man,  you  be  a  poor  sort,  I  think !  " 

"  Poor  indeed !  "  cried  I  passionately.  "  Poorer  even 
than  you  judge  me,  for  I  haven't  a  penny  in  the  world! 
But  here  is  my  watch  —  all  I  have  left  —  take  it  —  take 
it,  for  God's  sake,  and  let  me  go ! "  Saying  which  I 
drew  forth  my  gold  repeater  and  would  have  forced  it 
into  her  hand,  but  now  she  sprang  back  in  her  turn  and, 
bowing  her  head,  fronted  me  with  both  arms  rigidly 
out-thrust. 

"Lord  God!"  she  muttered.  "D5  ye  think  'tis  your 
money  I  want  —  your  dirty  money!" 

"  What  matter  my  thoughts  ?  "  I  cried.  "  Here  is  my 
watch ;  pray  take  it  and  let  us  say  good-bye ! " 

Now  here,  to  my  unutterable  amazement,  she  flung  her- 
self down,  and  crouched  against  the  high,  grassy  bank, 
burst  into  a  tempestuous  weeping  while  I  stood  gaping 
and  infinitely  distressed. 

MI  —  I  beg  your  pardon!"  said  I  at  last  and  then, 


ioo  Peregrine's  Progress 

struck  by  the  inadequacy  of  these  trite  words,  drew  a 
pace  nearer.  "  Oh,  pray  —  pray  don't  weep !  "  I  pleaded. 
"  If  I  have  hurt  you,  I  crave  your  forgiveness ! "  Here 
she  sobbed  but  the  fiercer.  "But  indeed  —  indeed,"  I 
stammered,  "  I  thought  —  that  is,  I  did  not  think,  I  — 
I  mean  I  could  not  leave  you  destitute  and  having  no 
money  to  bestow,  I  —  " 

"  Money !  "  cried  she  bitterly.  "  Money  ! "  And  here, 
checking  her  sobs,  added  very  unreasonably,  "  I  hates 
you!" 

"  Please,"  said  I,  "  oh,  pray  believe  I  meant  only  kind- 
ness! I  thought  you  were  —  " 

"  A  girl  o'  the  road,  a  creeper  o'  ditches  and  byways  — 
well,  I'm  not,  I  tell  ye  —  I'm  not!  And  I  only  followed 
ye  because  you  were  so  wishful  to  be  rid  o'  me  and  because 
you  were  so  silly  and  young  and  strange  I  could  n't  under- 
stand ye.  But  I  do  now,  and  I  'm  done  wi'  you !  Go 
away  —  go  away;  I  hates  you  more  than  Bennigo  or 
Jochabed  —  go  away,  I  hates  you !  " 

"  Blind  me,  and  no  wonder ! "  chuckled  a  hoarse  voice 
behind  me  with  such  startling  suddenness  as  for  a  moment 
bereft  me  of  speech  or  motion;  then,  wheeling  about,  I 
came  face  to  face  with  a  rough-clad,  villainous-looking 
man  who  stood,  powerful  legs  apart,  hairy  fists  grasping 
a  short,  heavy  stick  or  bludgeon,  and  evil  head  out-thrust 
to  stare  beyond  me  at  the  prostrate  form  of  my  companion 
who  had  merely  lifted  her  head  to  watch  us  through  her 
tumbled  hair. 

"What  d*  you  want?"  I  questioned  the  fellow,  breath- 
lessly. 

"  Never  you  mind,  my  chick,"  he  growled,  leering  upon 
the  girl's  shapeliness  with  evil  eyes.  "  I  know  what  she 
wants  —  and  it  ain't  you,  so  cut  your  stick  and  leave  'er 
to  the  man  who  can  comfort  a  fine,  'andsome  lass." 

Though  addressing  me,  his  eyes  were  for  my  companion, 
his  loathsome  gaze  never  swerving  from  her  prostrate 
form ;  very  slowly  and  deliberately  he  began  to  approach 
her,  and  now  in  the  man-  himself,  in  his  every  look  and 


I  Satisfy  Myself  of  my  Cowardice  i  o  i 

gesture  there  was  an  indescribable  beastliness  that  turned 
me  physically  sick.  But  none  the  less,  though  my  soul 
shrank  within  me,  I  ventured  to  grasp  him  by  the 
sleeve. 

"  Let  her  alone  —  let  her  alone !  "  I  gasped,  dry- 
mouthed. 

At  this  he  turned  on  me,  his  evil  face  convulsed  with 
a  look  of  such  brutish  ferocity  as  appalled  me,  yet  I  only 
tightened  my  grip  more  desperately  and  repeated  my  pas- 
sionate cry: 

"  Let  her  alone,  I  say ;  let  her  alone !  " 

Snarling  inarticulately  he  leapt,  striking  at  me  with 
his  bludgeon,  a  cruel  blow  that  staggered  and  dazed  me, 
sapping  alike  my  strength  and  fortitude  for,  beholding 
the  murderous  glare  of  his  eyes  as  he  made  to  smite  again, 
blind  panic  seized  me  and,  reeling  aside,  I  sped  away  on 
stumbling  feet,  my  head  throbbing  with  the  blow,  —  deaf- 
ened, sick  and  half-blind.  But  all  at  once  I  stopped,  sud- 
denly oblivious  of  self  as,  louder  than  the  buzzing  torment 
of  my  wounded  head,  rose  a  distressful  cry  and  the  more 
hateful  sound  of  desperate  struggling.  Round  I  turned 
and,  peering,  saw  them  locked  in  close  grapple,  and  her 
slender  body  bent  and  swaying  in  his  merciless  clutch: 
at  which  sight  my  pain  and  sickness  and  selfish  fear  were 
all  forgotten  and  in  their  stead  sprang  a  passionate  de- 
sire to  kill  and  be  done  with  this  evil  thing  that  defiled  the 
earth  in  man's  shape.  So  back  again  sped  I,  and  with 
every  step  this  murderous  desire  grew  until  my  mind  held 
no  other  purpose.  I  remember  snatching  up  the  bludgeon 
he  had  let  fall,  whirling  it  aloft  in  both  hands  and  strik- 
ing for  his  bullet  head,  but  in  that  instant  (and  well  for 
him)  he  espied  his  danger  and,  loosing  the  girl,  stooped 
and  taking  the  blow  across  the  broad  of  his  back  was 
5eaten  to  his  knees ;  but,  as  I  swung  again,  he  sprang 
in  beneath  my  lifted  arms.  I  felt  the  sickening  impact 
of  a  blow  and  the  bludgeon  flew  from  my  hold;  then  he 
was  upon  me,  belabouring  me  with  both  fists,  but  twining 
my  legs  in  his,  I  clung  to  those  merciless  arms,  while  above 


IO2  Peregrine's  Progress 

his  fierce  snarling  and  the  painful  shock  of  his  blows,  I 
heard  the  girl  calling  out  to  me : 

"  Fight  him  —  fight !  Don't  cling  like  a  woman  — 
stand  away  —  hit  him  back  —  fight !  " 

But  though  spent  and  faint  with  my  hurts,  I  clung  the 
more  tenaciously,  my  face  buried  in  his  foul-smelling 
jacket,  but  at  last  he  wrenched  one  arm  from  my  desperate 
embrace;  there  was  a  sudden  blinding  shock  that  hurled 
me  backward  into  the  road:  lying  thus  helpless,  my  an- 
tagonist leapt  to  kick  the  life  out  of  my  defenceless  body, 
but  I  saw  him  reel  suddenly  and  whirl  about,  grasping  at 
an  arm  that  spouted  blood  between  his  hairy  fingers, 
while  he  stared  at  the  girl  crouched  for  another  spring, 
the  knife  glittering  in  her  hand. 

"  Go  —  go,  filthy  beast !  "  she  panted.  "  Go,  or  I  '11  be 
the  death  o'  ye ! "  And  speaking,  she  began  to  creep 
towards  me.  The  fellow  gave  back,  staring  from  this 
deadly  knife  to  her  fierce  eyes  and  reading  there  the  truth 
of  her  words,  he  turned  and  made  off,  spattering  blood 
as  he  went. 

Relieved  of  his  evil  presence,  I  closed  my  eyes  awhile 
feeling  myself  very  faint  and  sick;  when  I  opened  them 
again  I  saw  her  standing  above  me,  knife  in  hand,  looking 
down  on  me  with  her  sombre  gaze. 

"  Kick  me  if  you  will !  "  I  groaned. 

"Why  should  I  kick  you?" 

"  Because  I  am  a  coward ! "  I  mumbled,  covering  my 
bruised  face.  "  I  ran  away  —  and  left  you  —  " 

"  Still,  I  don't  think  I  '11  kick  you,"  said  she  in  a  soft, 
grave  voice,  "because  although  you  runs  away  like  a 
coward,  you  comes  back  again.  Though  to  be  sure  I 
did  n't  need  you  —  " 

"But,"  said  I,  keeping  my  face  hidden,  "I  heard  you 
cry  out  —  " 

"  That  was  because  I  wished  you  to  come  back,  though 
having  my  little  churi  I  didn't  need  you;  I've  managed 
worse  than  him  before  now !  However,  you  did  come  back 
—  which  was  more  than  I  expected.  But  I'll  never  call 


I  Satisfy  Myself  of  my  Cowardice  103 

you  '  young  man '  any  more  because  you  ain't  a  real  man, 
are  you?  " 

"  God  help  me ! "  I  groaned,  for  added  to  my  shame 
the  pain  of  my  hurts  was  more  than  I  could  well  bear, 
"  O  God  help  me ! "  And  now  indeed  it  seemed  that  in 
some  measure  He  answered  my  prayer,  for,  as  I  strove 
to  rise,  the  faintness  seized  me  again  and  I  sank  to  a 
blessed  unconsciousness. 


CHAPTER  XV 

PKOV1NG  THAT  A  GODDESS  IS  WHOLLY  FEMININE 

I  WAS  lying  beneath  a  tree,  my  head  softly  pillowed  and 
wet  with  cool  water  that  refreshed  me  wonderfully;  thus 
I  presently  turned  my  head  and  glanced  up  into  eyes  that 
gazed  down  upon  me,  very  beautiful  eyes  these  seemed, 
being  soft  and  tender  and  darkly  grey. 

"Are  ye  better?"  she  questioned.  Now  at  this  I 
wondered,  for  the  voice  matched  the  eyes  for  gentleness. 

"  Thank  you,  much  better." 

"  He  hurt  you  more  than  I  thought." 

"  It  was  the  blow  on  the  head  —  slight  concussion,  I 
think." 

"  And  you  stands  up  to  him  like  —  " 

"  You  mean  I  ran  away  like  a  coward." 

"  He  was  twice  as  big  as  you  —  " 

"  No  matter !  Cowardice  is  always  despicable,  more 
especially  in  defence  of  one  of  the  weaker  sex,"  said  I 
dismally. 

"  But  you  saves  me,  to  be  sure ! " 

At  this  I  strove  to  rise  in  sheer  amazement  and  thui 
found  my  head  pillowed  in  her  lap. 

"  How  did  I  save  you  ?  "  I  demanded  bitterly.    "  I  that 


am  a  craven 


i  »» 


"By  giving  me  the  chance  to  reach  my  little  churi. 
However,  I  was  never  once  afraid  of  thfe  beast." 

"  I  was  !  "  I  confessed  miserably.  "  Afraid  beyond 
words ! " 

"But  you  comes  running  back,  and  rery  fierce  too!" 

"  I  meant  to  kill  him  ! " 

"  Why  trouble  to  kill  him?  " 

"I  could  not  bear  he  should  foul  you  in  his  brutal  arms !" 

Here  came  her  hand  to  touch  my  aching  brow  and  I 
closed  my  eyes  again. 


That  a  Goddess  is  Wholly  Feminine  105 

"Does  your  head  ache  very  much?"  she  enquired. 

"  A  little !  "  I  groaned. 

"Can  ye  walk?"  she  enquired.  " 'T  is  goin'  to  storm 
and  rain  on  us  soon,  I  think  —  can  ye  walk  a  small  ways?  " 

For  answer  I  got  to  my  knees  and,  with  her  ready  as- 
sistance, to  my  feet,  but  found  myself  very  faint  and  sick 
and  with  my  head  throbbing  as  though  it  would  burst. 

"  Come ! "  said  she,  taking  my  hand  in  her  warm,  strong, 
clasp.  "  There 's  rain  in  this  wind  —  come !  I  knows  a 
fair,  likely  place  —  " 

"  No,  no !  "  cried  I.  "  Please  leave  me,  I  shall  be  very 
well  here  —  the  rain  will  do  me  good,  perhaps  —  be- 
sides, I  have  no  money  to  pay  for  a  night's  lodging  —  " 

"But  I  have!" 

"  No  matter,  I  cannot  live  on  your  money." 

"  Aye,  but  you  can,  for  this  money  is  yourn  as  much 
as  mine,  seeing  as  I  prigs  it." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"Lord,  what  should  I  mean  except  as  I  takes  it,  nabs 
it  —  steals  it  from  yon  dirty  beast  while  he  struggled  wi' 
me.  Look ! "  And  taking  out  a  ragged  belcher  necker- 
chief she  unknotted  one  corner  and  showed  me  three  bright, 
new  guineas. 

"  Ah,  throw  them  away ! "  I  cried.  "  The  man  was  so 
vile  —  " 

"  He  was  ! "  she  nodded.  "  But  his  money  is  clean 
enough  and  will  be  useful  to  us  —  " 

"  But  you  are  —  a  thief ! "     I  exclaimed,  aghast. 

"  And  you  are  a  fool ! "  she  retorted,  thrusting  the 
money  into  a  small  leathern  bag  she  carried  at  her  girdle. 
"  And  he  was  a  dirty  rogue  and  his  money  shall  feed  us 
until  I  can  earn  more.  And  now  let  us  hurry  afore  the 
storm  ketches  us." 

"Where  to?" 

"  There  's  a  place  I  know  where  we  can  be  warm  and 
sheltered  and  nothing  to  pay." 

And  so,  because  of  her  persistence  and  my  sickness,  I 
suffered  her  to  lead  me  where  she  would,  though  more 


106  Peregrine's  Progress 

than  once  I  tripped  and  should  have  fallen  but  for  her 
ready  arm.  Presently  turning  out  of  the  road  we  came 
to  a  meadow  and  here,  half-blinded  by  the  pain  of  my  head 
and  scarcely  able  to  drag  one  foot  after  the  other,  I 
earnestly  besought  her  to  leave  me,  storm  or  no  storm; 
to  which  she  merely  bade  me  not  to  be  a  fool,  with  the 
further  assurance  that  she  would  leave  me  when  she  wished 
and  not  before. 

I  remember  stumbling  down  a  grassy  slope  and  through 
a  tangle  of  bushes  and  dense-growing  trees,  amid  whose 
whispering  leafage  shadows  were  deepening,  and  so  at  last 
to  a  half-ruined  barn,  very  remote  and  desolate,  into 
which  she  conducted  me. 

Here,  from  amid  a  pile  of  mouldy  hay,  she  dragged  a 
ladder  which  she  reared  to  a  small  hatch  or  trap  in  the 
floor  above  and  bade  me  mount.  This  I  did,  though  very 
clumsily  and  presently  found  myself  in  an  upper  chamber 
or  loft,  illuminated  by  a  small,  unglazed  window  that 
opened  beneath  the  eaves  at  one  end.  Scarcely  was  I  here 
than  she  was  beside  me  and  brought  me  to  an  adjacent 
corner  where  was  a  great  pile  of  hay  that  made  the  place 
sweet  with  its  fragrance,  whereon,  at  her  behest,  I  sank 
down  and  would  have  expressed  my  gratitude,  but  she 
checked  me,  frowning. 

"  Are  ye  hungry  ?  "  she  demanded  ungraciously. 

"  Indeed,  no,  I  thank  you,"  I  answered,  lying  back  upon 
my  fragrant  couch. 

"Well,  I  am!"  she  retorted  sullenly.  "And  you  will 
be,  sooner  or  later,  so  I  '11  go  afore  the  storm  ketches 
me." 

"  Go  where,  and  for  what?  " 

"  To  buy  supper  with  money  as  I  stole,  for  you  an' 
me  to  eat  —  " 

"  I  'd  rather  starve !  "  quoth  I,  sitting  up  the  better  to 
say  it. 

"  Starve ! "  she  repeated,  with  a  scornful  flash  of  her 
great  eyes.  "  You  ?  D'  ye  know  what  starvation  means  ? 
Ha*  you  ever  tried  it?" 


That  a  Goddess  is  Wholly  Feminine  107 

"No,"  I  admitted,  "but  none  the  less  — " 

"  Then  don't  talk  foolishness ! "  said  she  disdainfully. 
"  You  '11  be  glad  t'  eat  an'  ask  no  questions  when  you  're 
hungry  enough !  And  don't  go  pitying  yourself  and  griev- 
ing over  your  bruises.  If  your  eyes  are  bulged  and 
blacked  a  bit  —  what  of  it?  Lord!  I've  seen  men  get 
it  worse  than  you  an'  come  up  smiling,  .but  then  to  be 
sure  they  were  men  and  stronger  than  you.  However, 
you  '11  be  better  to-morrow !  So  now  go  to  sleep  and  for- 
get all  about  yourself  if  ye  can  —  sleep  till  supper 's  ready 
and  when  I  say  eat  —  eat." 

"  Many  thanks,  but  I  do  not  desire  any  supper." 

"  Wait  till  you  smell  it !  " 

"  I  shall  neither  smell  it  nor  eat  it,"  I  answered,  frown- 
ing, "  because  I  propose  to  rid  you  of  my  presence  almost 
immediately." 

"Meaning  as  you  will  cut  your  stick?" 

"  Certainly  not !  I  mean  that  I  shall  take  my  departure 
just  so  soon  as  I  find  myself  sufficiently  recovered." 

"  Why,  then,"  said  she,  compressing  her  lips  and  jutting 
her  round  chin  at  me  in  highly  unfeminine  fashion, 
"you'll  have  to  jump  or  fly." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  shall  take  away  the  ladder ! " 

"  You  would  never  do  such  a  thing ! "  quoth  I,  starting. 

"  Tush ! "  she  retorted  and,  turning  from  me  with  a 
disdainful  swirl  of  her  short  petticoat,  began  to  descend 
into  the  depths  below,  seeing  which,  I  scrambled  to  my  feet 
and  crossed  to  the  trap,  only  to  behold  her  standing  be- 
neath me,  the  ladder  dragged  quite  out  of  my  reach. 

"  Fly  down,  little  bird !  "  she  cried  insolently.  "  Jump, 
Jack  —  jump!"  and  snapping  finger  and  thumb  at  me, 
was  gone  before  my  anger  might  find  vent  in  words. 

Trapped  and  imprisoned  thus,  I  presently  came 
wandering  disconsolately  back  to  the  hay-pile  and  lying 
there  began  to  ponder  upon  the  extreme  unlovely  de- 
portment of  this  strange  creature  whose  almost  every 
speech  and  look  and  gesture  outraged  all  my  precon- 


io8  Peregrine's  Progress" 

ceived   ideas   of  "the  sex",  and    bitterly   to   deplore  my 
present  situation. 

Evening  was  falling  apace  but  there  was  still  sufficient 
light  to  show  me  something  of  the  place  wherein  I  lay 
and  the  orderly  disorder  that  surrounded  me.  In  one 
corner,  upon  a  rough  board  that  served  for  a  shelf,  stood 
six  battered  volumes  flanked  by  divers  pots  and  pans; 
against  the  wall  near  by  hung  a  small,  cracked  mirror, 
while  dangling  from  nails  driven  into  the  warped  and 
twisted  timbering  of  roof  and  walls  hung  a  great  variety 
of  baskets,  large  and  small  and  variously  shaped,  of  rush 
or  bent  withies,  many  of  which  seemed  in  course  of  man- 
ufacture. These  and  many  other  objects  I  took  casual 
heed  of  as  I  lay,  but  often  my  gaze  would  rove  back  to 
the  six  books  standing  so  orderly  amid  the  pots  and  pans ; 
indeed,  these  so  stirred  my  interest  that  I  began  to 
wonder  what  manner  of  books  these  might  be  and  what 
should  bring  them  in  such  a  strange  and  desolate  place, 
so  that  despite  my  aches  and  pains  I  felt  much  disposed 
to  rise  and  investigate  them,  but  in  the  end  was  content 
to  lie  and  stare  at  them  while  the  light  failed  and  shadows 
deepened  until,  my  eyes  little  serving  me,  I  closed  them 
and  fell  fast  asleep. 


ASSUREDLY  never  were  the  nostrils  of  mortal  youth 
saluted  with  odour  more  inspiring  and  altogether  more 
delectable  than  that  which,  wooing  me  from  the  drowsy 
arms  of  Morpheus,  awoke  me  to  growing  consciousness  of 
three  several  things,  namely:  light,  movement  and  an  ex- 
traordinarily poignant  hunger. 

Being  awake,  I  firstly  sniffed  of  this  most  appetising 
aroma,  then  lifting  my  head  espied  the  girl  busily  combing 
her  long  hair  before  that  small  mirror  I  have  mentioned. 
Now  although  the  place  was  illumined  by  no  more  than  a 
farthing  dip,  yet  this  was  sufficient  to  wake  many  fugitive 
gleams  and  coppery  lights  in  these  long,  rippling  tresses, 
so  that  I  lay  for  some  time  content  to  watch  as  she 
combed  with  smooth-sweeping  motions  of  arm  and  wrist; 
but  suddenly  this  arm  grew  still  and  I  knew  that  she  was 
viewing  me  through  this  silky  curtain  as  it  hung. 

"  Well  ?  "  she  demanded  suddenly,  and  putting  back  the 
hair  from  her  face,  stood  looking  down  at  me  with  her 
sombre,  half-sullen  gaze. 

"Well?"  said  I,  sitting  up.  And  now,  beholding  her 
face  framed  thus  in  her  glossy  tresses,  the  wide,  low  brow, 
the  deep  eyes,  the  delicate  modelling  of  nose  and  chin,  the 
vivid  lips,  I  realised  that  she  was  beautiful  —  beautiful 
as  any  fabled  goddess  or  dryad ;  and  what  with  this,  the 
rippling  splendour  of  her  hair  that  covered  her  like  a 
garment,  the  deep  silence  of  this  remote  solitude,  there 
rushed  upon  me  a  sense  of  such  intimacy  that  I  caught 
my  breath  and  averted  my  gaze  instinctively,  awed  by, 
yet  delighting  in,  this  sudden  consciousness  of  her 
beauty. 

"Well,"  said  she  again,  «d'  ye  smell  it?" 


no  Peregrine's  Progress 

Starting,  I  glanced  up,  to  find  her  busied  with  the 
comb  again  and  immediately  recognised  that  here  was 
neither  goddess  nor  dryad  but  merely  a  well-shaped, 
comely  young  woman  with  extraordinarily  long  hair; 
which  fact  established,  my  hunger  (momentarily  forgot- 
ten) returned  with  keener  pang  than  ever. 

"Are  ye  going  to  sleep  again?"  she  enquired,  finding 
me  silent. 

"  No ! " 

"Well,  don't  you  smell  it?" 

"Pray  what  is  it?" 

"A  duck  as  I  be  roasting  to  our  supper." 

"  Duck ! "  I  repeated,  mouth  watering.  "  I  have 
breathed  its  enticement  ever  since  I  awoke." 

"  Wi'  plenty  o'  sage  and  onion,  a  new  loaf,  and  cheese ! " 
she  added,  with  a  nod  of  her  shapely  head  at  each  item, 
"  unless,"  said  she,  eyeing  me  askance,  "  you  're  minded  to 
starve  —  as  you  said?  " 

At  this  I  grew  very  despondent  and,  sighing,  watched 
her  twist  her  glossy  hair  into  two  long  braids  and  tie  up 
the  ends  with  small  ribbands  which  I  thought  a  very 
quaint  and  pretty  fashion. 

She  now  bade  me  help  her  to  set  up  the  supper  table, 
which  proved  to  be  a  weather-beaten  half-door  propped 
upon  baskets.  This  done,  she  took  the  candle  and  de- 
scended below,  I  following;  and  here,  within  an  old  cauldron 
pierced  with  many  holes,  burned  a  fire,  above  which  was 
a  covered  pot  whence  emanated  that  fragrance  I  have  al- 
ready mentioned,  but  stronger  and  more  savoury  than 
ever  now,  so  that  my  hunger  was  wrought  to  a  passionate 
yearning,  more  especially  when,  having  removed  the  pot 
from  the  fire,  she  lifted  the  cover.  Ascending  to  the  loft 
she  pronounced  supper  all  ready  and  bade  me  sit  down 
and  eat.  But  this  I  could  not  do  for  my  pride's  sake  as  I 
freely  confessed,  which  seemed  to  surprise  her  not  a  little. 

"  Well  then,"  said  she,  perceiving  me  thus  determined, 
"you  may  eat  if  you  are  truly  hungry,  because  none  o' 
the  money  I  prigs  pays  for  this  duck." 


The  Virtues  of  the  Chaste  Goddess  1 1 1 

So  down  I  sat  forthwith  and  never  in  all  my  life  enjoyed 
any  meal  quite  so  much,  as  I  told  her. 

"  Well,  then,  eat  it ! "  said  she  in  her  ungracious,  half- 
sullen  manner. 

"  I  mean  to,"  I  retorted,  "  though  I  must  say  you  are 
a  wonderful  cook."  At  this  she  merely  scowled  at  me  and 
I  did  not  venture  another  remark  until  the  sharper  pangs 
of  hunger  were  appeased,  then,  sighing,  I  spoke  again. 
"Yes,  I  repeat  you  are  a  wonderful  cook!  But  then 
everything  seems  so  wonderful  to  me  —  this  place,  for  in- 
stance —  so  strange  and  so  solitary !  " 

"  It  is ! "  she  answered,  leaning  her  chin  on  her  hands 
and  staring  at  me  across  the  table.  "  That  's  why  I  runs 
away  here  to  hide  from  the  chals  or  when  in  any  trouble 
wi'  old  Azor  —  yes,  't  is  a  very  lonely  place,  which  do 
make  me  wonder  if  you  be  afeard  o'  ghosts  ?  " 

"  No  —  that  is,  I  don't  think  so  —  if  such  things  do 
really  exist.  But  why  do  you  ask?  " 

"A  woman  was  murdered  here  once  an'  they  say  her 
spirit  walks,  so  there  's  few  people  dare  venter  here  by  day 
an'  never  a  one  by  night,  an'  that 's  why  't  is  so  lonely  an' 
that 's  why  I  loves  the  place." 

"  Then  you  don't  believe  in  ghosts  ?  " 

"  Well  I  sees  strange  things  among  the  Romans ; 
there's  the  duJckerin  and  dukkeripen,  an'  the  Walkers  o* 
the  Heath.  They  're  a  strange  folk,  the  Romans  — 
'specially  old  Azor !  " 

"But  you  are  not  afraid  —  never  have  been?" 

"  No,"  she  answered,  shaking  her  head  slowly,  "  I  've 
never  been  afeard  of  anything  or  any  one  yet  —  except 
old  Azor."  And  beholding  her  as  she  said  this,  observing 
the  proud  cast  of  her  features,  the  lofty  carriage  of  her 
head,  her  compelling  eyes,  resolute  chin  and  the  noble  lines 
of  her  form,  I  knew  she  spoke  truth  and  began  to  doubt 
if  she  were  no  more  than  a  mere  comely,  well-shaped  young 
female,  after  all. 

"  Pray,  what  is  your  name?  "  I  enquired. 

"Anna." 


112  Peregrine's  Progress 

"  Indeed  it  is  a  pretty  name,  though  you  are  more  like 
my  conception  of  Diana," 

"Who's  she?" 

"  She  was  a  young  goddess." 

"A  goddess?"  repeated  my  companion  in  her  deep, 
soft  voice,  "  that  don't  sound  much  like  me." 

"A  goddess,  very  brave  and  strong,  who  despised  all 
men  and  feared  none ! " 

"That  does  sound  more  like  me!  Though  I  thought 
all  goddesses  were  beautiful?"  she  added  wistfully. 

"So  they  were,"  I  nodded,  "but  how  do  you  know  this?" 

"From  Jerry  Jarvis  —  " 

"  What,  the  Tinker?  "  I  exclaimed.  "  Do  you  mean  the 
tinker  who  calls  himself  a  *  literary  cove '  — the  wonderful 
tinker  who  writes  excellent  poetry  and  travels  about  with 
a  pony  named  Diogenes  ?  " 

"  Yes,  there  be  only  one  Jerry  Jarvis,"  answered  my 
companion.  "  'T  was  Jerry  taught  me  to  write  and  lent  me 
books  to  read.  I  've  known  him  since  I  can  remember  and 
he  was  always  kind.  Jerry  's  a  good  man ! " 

"  And  writes  real  poetry ! "  I  nodded.  "  At  least  I 
think  so.  I  should  like  to  meet  him  again." 

"  Well,  he  '11  be  Tonbridge  way  about  now.  I  knows  all 
his  rounds  an'  he's  reg'lar  as  a  clock." 

"Do  you  know  the  way  to  Tonbridge?  " 

"  Of  course ! " 

"  Yes,  I  '11  go  to  Tonbridge  to-morrow ;  you  shall  tell 
me  the  best  way  to  get  there,  if  you  will." 

"  'T  is  very  sure  you  are  better  of  your  beating." 

"  Yes,  thank  God ! "  I  answered. 

"Though  your  eyes  will  be  black  to-morrow." 

<<?  Which  will  serve  me  right  and  properly  for  my 
cowardice." 

"  But  you  're  not  afeard  o*  ghosts !  " 

"Heaven  knows,"  quoth  I  bitterly,  "I  might  be  if  I 
saw  one.  And  as  for  solitude,  I  don't  think  I  should  care 
to  stay  here  alone  night  after  night  and  day  after  day  as 
you  seem  to  have  done." 


The  Virtues  of  the  Chaste  Goddess  113 

"  Oh,  you  gets  used  to  it.'* 

"But  how  do  you  pass  your  time  in  this  solitude?  " 

"  Reads  mostly,  and  makes  my  baskets ;  there  be  few 
can  ekal  me  at  rush  or  willow.  And  there 's  good  money 
in  baskets ! " 

"  What  books  have  you  read  ?  " 

"  Not  so  many  as  I  'd  like." 

"  Tell  me  some  of  them." 

"  Well  there 's  the  *  Castle  of  Otranto »  and  Virgil  and 
'  Peregrine  Pickle '  and  the  Psalms,  and  '  Tom  Jones ' 
and  John  Milton's  Poems,  '  Tristram  Shandy,'  Dryden, 
Plutarch's  lives  —  oh,  and  a  lot  beside  —  " 

"  And  which  do  you  like  best  ?  " 

For  answer  she  reached  the  six  volumes  from  amongst 
her  pots  and  pans  and  these  I  found  to  be:  Shakespeare, 

*  Tristram    Shandy,'    the    Bible,    Anson's    Voyages    and 

*  Robinson  Crusoe.' 

"You  have  shown  most  excellent  judgment  and  a  most 
catholic  taste !  "  said  I. 

"  You  loves  books,  too ! "  she  nodded.  "  I  sees  that  by 
the  way  you  handles  'em.  And  I  keeps  these  six  here 
because  I  can  read  them  over  and  over  and  never  tires, 
though  there 's  a  lot  I  don't  understand." 

"  That,"  said  I,  looking  upon  my  companion  with  new 
vision,  "  that  is  because  each  of  these  books  shrines  some 
part  of  undying  Truth  which  can  never  weary  and  never 
die.  I  think,"  said  I,  setting  the  books  back  in  their  ac- 
customed place,  "  I  think  I  will  call  you  Diana,  if  I  may?  " 

"  Very  well." 

"  And  my  name  is  Peregrine." 

"  You  seemed  to  like  your  supper,"  said  she,  beginning 
to  clear  away  the  platters. 

"  More  than  words  can  express !  " 

"  So  did  I,"  she  nodded,  "  and  that  was  worth  a  little 
risk." 

"What  risk,  Diana?" 

"Well,  I  tells  you  the  duck  was  not  bought  with  any 
of  the  beast's  money,  did  n't  I?" 


ii4  Peregrine's  Progress 

"  Yes.     Pray,  how  did  you  come  by  it  ?  " 

«'  Prigged  it!" 

"Great  heaven!    You  mean  that  you  —  " 

"  Yes.  I  goes  to  a  farmhouse  as  I  knows  of  to  get 
some  milk  an'  eggs,  an'  spies  four  ducks  on  the  kitchen 
table,  trussed  an'  stuffed  all  ready  for  the  oven,  so  I 
brings  one  away  —  only  one,  though  I  might  ha*  nabbed 
two  just  as  easy  —  " 

"  But  this  was  burglary !  "  I  gasped. 

"But  'twas  a  dainty  supper!" 

"  This  is  frightful !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"But  the  duck  was  very  tender  —  you  said  so." 

'*  Oh,  girl,"  I  cried,  "  don't  you  know  it  is  very  wicked 
to  steal?  Are  you  aware  you  have  broken  one  of  God's 
commandments,  contravened  the  law  and  made  yourself 
liable  to  arrest  and  imprisonment  —  indeed,  people  have 
been  hanged  for  less !  O  Diana,  how  could  you  do  a  thing 
so  shameful,  so  unworthy  your  womanhood  —  how  could 
you  —  how  could  you  ?  " 

But  instead  of  answering  or  paying  the  least  heed  to 
this  so  earnest  appeal,  she  continued  her  business  of  clear- 
ing away  supper  things  and  table,  and  thereafter  begun  to 
make  herself  a  couch  of  hay  in  the  corner  remotest  from 
mine,  and  all  without  so  much  as  a  glance  in  my  direction. 

"  And  now,"  said  she  at  last,  "  if  you  're  quite  ready, 
I  '11  blow  out  the  candle." 

"  Whenever  you  will,"  I  answered,  stretching  myself 
upon  my  hay-pile.  Almost  as  I  spoke  the  light  vanished, 
and  in  the  pitchy  gloom  my  hearing  seemed  to  grow  the 
more  acute;  I  heard  her  light,  assured  tread,  the  fall  of 
her  shoes  as  she  kicked  them  off,  the  rustle  of  the  hay  that 
was  her  bed,  a  long-drawn,  sleepy  sigh.  These  sounds  at 
last  subsiding,  I  spoke: 

"Have  I  angered  you,  Diana?"  Here  I  paused  for 
answer  but  getting  none  continued,  "Though  indeed  my 
strictures  were  all  well-meant,  for  I  cannot  bear  that  you 
should  do  anything  unworthy  —  "  Here,  though  she  ut- 
tered no  word,  I  distinguished  a  sudden,  petulant  rustle  of 


The  Virtues  of  the  Chaste  Goddess  115 

hay  as  if  she  had  kicked  viciously.  "  And  so,  Diana,"  I 
continued,  "  I  want  you  to  promise  that  henceforth  you 
will  so  govern  your  conduct,  so  order  your  life  that  you 
may  become  a  woman,  gentle  and  sweet  and  good,  in  whose 
presence  no  evil  thing  may  exist,  one  who  is  herself  an 
inspiration  to  good  and  noble  things,  a  woman  whose 
friendship  is  a  privilege  and  whose  —  whose  love  would  be 
a  crowning  glory.  Do  you  understand,  Diana?  " 

"  Hold  your  tongue !  "  she  cried  very  suddenly.  **  Hold 
y'r  tongue  an'  go  to  sleep  —  do !  " 

In  the  fervour  of  my  exordium  I  had  assumed  a  sitting 
posture  but  at  her  coarse  rejoinder  I  fell  back,  inexpres- 
sibly shocked,  and  lay  staring  upon  the  dark,  tingling 
with  mortification  that  I  should  have  wasted  myself  in 
such  vain  appeal  and  been  thus  callously  repulsed  by  one 
who  was  no  more  than  an  ignorant  gipsy-wench,  prone  to 
coarse  expressions  and  small  larcenies,  a  creature  knowing 
little  difference  between  good  and  evil  and  caring  less. 
But  now,  remembering1  her  rough  upbringing  and  the  wild 
folk  who  had  fostered  her,  my  anger  gave  place  to  com- 
miseration, for  how  could  she,  under  such  circumstances, 
be  other  than  what  she  seemed?  And  yet  —  was  she  in 
herself  good  or  evil?  This  doubt  troubled  me  so  much 
that  I  turned  to  stare  towards  that  dark  corner  where 
she  lay ;  and  listening  to  her  gentle  and  regular  breathing, 
I  judged  that  she  slept  already,  though  more  than  once 
I  heard  the  hay  rustle  as  she  stirred,  sighing  plaintively. 
But  sleep  was  not  for  me,  my  mind  being  greatly  troubled 
by  this  same  unanswerable  question :  Was  she  a  Diana  in- 
deed, dowered  with  the  virtues  of  that  chaste  goddess,  or 
only  a  poor,  small-souled  creature  debased  by  the  circum- 
stances of  her  lawless  origin? 

Now  as  I  lay  thus  wakeful,  vainly  seeking  an  answer 
to  this  most  distressing  question,  I  became  aware  that 
the  place  was  no  longer  dark ;  instead  was  a  soft  glow,  an 
ever-increasing  radiance,  and  lifting  my  eyes  to  the  un- 
fflazed  window  I  beheld  the  moon,  —  Dian's  fair  self, 
throned  in  splendour,  queen  of  this  midsummer  night, 


n6  Peregrine's  Progress 

TIC  and  infinitely  remote,  who  yet  sent  down  a  kindly 
beam,  that,  darting  athwart  the  gloom,  fell  in  a  glory  upon 
that  other  Diana  where  she  lay  outstretched  in  peaceful 
slumber.  And  gazing  upon  this  face,  softened  and  beau- 
tified by  gentle  sleep  —  the  wide,  low  brow,  these  tender 
iips,  this  firm  and  resolute  chin,  I  thought  to  read  therein 
a  sweet  nobility,  purity  and  strength;  and,  like  the  dark- 
ness, my  doubts  and  trouble  were  quite  banished. 

Therefore,  lifting  my  gaze  once  more  to  Dian's  placid 
loveliness,  I  breathed  her  a  sigh  of  gratitude,  for  it  seemed 
that  she  had  shown  me  the  answer  to  my  question.  And 
thus,  my  mind  at  rest,  I  presently  fell  asleep. 


CHAPTER  XVH 

HOW   WE    SET    OUT    FOB    TONBEIDGE 

"OHO  —  hey  —  hallo!" 

Starting  up,  I  opened  sleepy  eyes  to  be  dazzled  by  a 
glory  of  early  sunshine,  and  creeping  from  the  hay  wherein 
I  lay  half-buried,  I  came  blinking  to  the  open  trapdoor 
and  beheld  Diana  standing  below,  flourishing  a  long- 
handled  fork  at  me. 

"  Kooshti  divvus,"  said  she. 

"  Good  morning ! "  said  I. 

"It  is !"  she  nodded.  "That 's  what  I  said !  And  the  less 
reason  to  sleep  —  here's  me  been  up  an  hour  an'  more." 

"  You  should  have  waked  me,  Diana." 

"I  was  too  busy.  But  if  you  are  awake,  come  down 
and  wash." 

"Wash  what?" 

"  Yourself  —  Lord,  you  needs  it  bad  enough  by  your 
looks  !  And  *  cleanliness  is  next  to  godliness '  —  they  says. 
So  go  an'  wash ! " 

"  Certainly ! "  said  I,  a  little  haughtily.  "  Though  per- 
mit me  to  assure  you  that  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  neglect- 
ing so  healthful  and  necessary  —  " 

"  Soap  an'  towel  —  in  th'  basket  —  corner  yonder !  " 
said  she,  kneeling  to  puff  the  fire  to  a  blaze  as  I  descended 
the  ladder. 

"  Thank  you,  and  where  shall  I  find  the  necessary 
water?  " 

"  Outside  —  in  the  brook  —  enough  to  drownd  you ! 
And  take  your  time,  make  a  good  job  of  it  —  a  clean 
body  makes  a  clean  mind  —  sometimes.  So  scrub  hard !  " 
At  this  I  came  where  she  must  meet  my  look. 

"  And  pray,  madam,"  I  demanded,  head  aloft  and  arms 
folded,  "  do  you  thus  suggest  that  my  mind  is  so  very 
unclean?  " 


1 1 8  Peregrine's  Progress 

"0  la!*'  cried  she,  waving  the  fork  at  me  with  a  pet- 
tish gesture.  "  Don't  try  to  come  your  fine  airs  over 
me  in  such  breeches  and  your  eyes  black  and  face  all  smutty 
—  go  an'  get  washed  first !  " 

At  this  I  turned  and  marched  out  of  the  barn,  quite 
forgetting  soap  and  towel  until  she  came  running  to 
thrust  them  upon  me,  willy-nilly. 

"  There 's  ham  an'  eggs  for  breakfast !  "  she  volunteered. 

"  Then  I  trust  you  will  enjoy  them,"  said  I  stiffly,  "  but 
as  regards  myself  I  most  certainly  shall  not  —  " 

"  Don't  frown,"  she  admonished,  "  for  with  your  face 
so  bruised  and  swollen  it  do  make  you  look  that  comical !  " 
And  laughing,  she  sped  away,  leaving  me  to  scowl  upon 
the  empty  air. 

But  the  morning  was  glorious ;  I  stood  in  a  dewrspangled 
world  radiant  with  sunshine  while  all  about  me  the 
feathered  host,  that  choir  invisible,  poured  forth  a  song 
of  universal  praise  to  greet  this  new-born  day.  With  this 
joyful  clamour  in  my  ears,  this  fresh,  green  world  before 
my  eyes,  I  grew  joyful  too,  and  hasted  towards  the  brook, 
my  foolish  petulance  quite  forgotten. 

Following  these  murmurous,  sun-kissed  waters,  I  came 
where  they  widened  suddenly  into  a  dark  and  silent  pool; 
and  here,  well-screened  by  bending  willows,  I  ventured  to 
bathe  and  found  in  the  cool,  sweet  water  such  gasping  de- 
light that  I  could  have  sung  and  shouted  for  pure  joy  of 
it.  Greatly  invigorated  and  prodigiously  hungry,  I 
donned  my  unlovely  garments  happily  enough  but  stooping 
above  this  watery  mirror  to  comb  my  damp  locks  into  such 
order  as  my  fingers  might  compass,  I  beheld  my  face,  its 
features  bruised  and  distorted  out  of  all  shape;  and  re- 
membering Diana  had  laughed  at  and  made  mock  of  these 
disfigurements,  I  sat  down,  not  troubling  about  my  hair, 
and  began  to  muse  upon  her  heartlessness,  contrasting 
this  with  my  aunt  Julia's  unfailing  sympathy  and  tender, 
loving  care,  and  immediately  felt  myself  woefully  solitary, 
miserably  cold  and  desperately  hungry.  The  world,  de- 
spite sunshine  and  bird-song,  was  a  dark  and  evil  place 


How  We  Set  Out  for  Tonbridge  119 

wherein  I  stood  desolate  and  forlorn;  here,  bowing  my 
head  between  my  hands,  I  began  to  despair  of  myself  and 
the  future.  But  now,  and  all  at  once,  what  must  obtrude 
upon  these  gloomy  thoughts  but  a  vision  of  ham  and  eggs, 
a  tantalisation  that  would  not  be  banished. 

"  Perry green ! "  I  lifted  my  head  to  listen  in- 
tently; and  presently  heard  it  again,  a  voice  rich  and 
full  and  smooth  as  note  of  blackbird,  calling  upon  my 

name:  "Perry green!  Breakfast's  ready — . — 

—  ham  an*  eggs!  Perry—* green!"  Snatching 

soap  and  towel  I  rose,  my  gloomy  thoughts  forgotten 
again,  and  hasted  whither  this  voice  summoned  me. 

"Are  ye  washed?"  she  enquired,  dexterously  skewering 
a  large  ham  rasher  upon  the  iron  fork  and  transferring  it 
to  a  platter. 

"I  am!" 

"And  hungry?" 

"  Extremely ! " 

'*  Then  you  may  eat !  Here 's  breakfast  —  only  don't 
go  asking  how  I  got  it  —  nor  yet  where !  " 

So  we  ate,  scarce  speaking;  I,  for  one,  seldom  lifting 
my  gaze  from  the  platter  balanced  upon  my  knees.  I  ate, 
I  say,  each  mouthful  a  joy,  ham  that  was  a  melting 
ecstasy  and  eggs  of  such  delicate  flavour  as  I  had  never 
tasted  till  now,  it  seemed. 

"  Diana,"  I  sighed  at  last,  "  you  are  a  truly  wonderful 
cook ! " 

"  No,"  she  answered ;  "  you  are  hungry,  that 's  all.  'T  is 
a  good  thing  to  be  hungry  —  sometimes  !  " 

O  gentle  and  perspicacious  reader!  You,  madam,  who 
being  so  daintily  feminine,  cannot  be  supposed  to  revel  in 
the  joys  of  hog-flesh,  flesh  of  ox,  sheep,  bird  or  fish,  no 
matter  how  excellent  well  cooked ;  and  you,  honourable  sir, 
who,  being  comfortably  replete  of  such,  seated  before  your 
groaning  board  at  duly  frequent  and  regular  intervals, 
masticate  in  duty  to  yourself  and  digestion,  but  with 
none  of  that  fine  fervour  of  enthusiasm  which  true  hunger 
may  bestow  —  I  cry  ye  mercy !  For  your  author,  tramp- 


120  Peregrine's  Progress 

ihc  roads,  weary  yet  aglow  with  exercise,  hath  met 
Mid  had  familiar  fellowship  with  lusty  Hunger,  and  learned 
that  eating,  though  a  base  necessity,  may  also  be  a  joy. 
If  therefore  your  author  forgetteth  soul  awhile  to  some- 
thing describe  and  mayhap  dilate  upon  such  material 
things  as  food  and  drink  and  their  due  assimilation,  here 
and  now  he  doth  most  humbly  crave  your  patient  for- 
bearance. 

"It  is  a  good  thing  to  be  hungry — sometimes!"  said 
Diana. 

"  If  one  may  assuage  that  hunger  with  such  ham  and 
eggs ! "  I  added.  "  Though  I  greatly  fear  I  shall  never 
taste  their  like  again." 

"  Anything  Ml  taste  good,"  quoth  she,  rising,  "  if  you  're 
hungry  enough ! " 

"Diana,"  said  I,  watching  her  as  she  flitted  lightly 
to  and  fro,  engaged  on  what  she  called  "  tidying  up." 
"  Diana,  what  are  we  going  to  do?  " 

"  I  thought  we  were  going  to  Tonbridge?  " 

"  I  am." 

"  Well  then,  the  sooner  we  starts  the  better." 

"  But,"  I  demurred,  rubbing  my  chin  and  staring  hard 
at  the  toe  of  my  clumsy  shoe,  "  don't  you  think  it  a  little 
unwise  —  very  extraordinary  and  —  yes,  extremely  ir- 
regular for — for  two  people  of  opposite  sexes  to  consort 
thus?  Are  not  folk  apt  to  misjudge  our  intimacy?" 

"What  folk?" 

"Well,  I  mean  the  world." 

"  Lord,  Peregrine,  who  's  us  for  the  world  to  trouble 
about?" 

"  I  merely  mention  this  because  I  dread  lest  I  com- 
promise you." 

"  What 's  compromise?  " 

"  Well,"  I  explained,  lifting  my  gaze  to  the  time-worn 
timbering  above  my  head, "  people  seeing  us  together  might 
suppose  we  —  we  were  —  lovers  —  " 

"But  we  ain't!"  she  retorted,  turning  to  look  at  me. 
"  And  never  shall  be shall  we?  " 


How  We  Set  Out  for  Tonbridge  121 

"  No !  "  said  I  with  my  gaze  still  turned  upward.  "  Of 
course  not!  But  none  the  less  people  might  think  we 
were were  living  together ! " 

"  Well,  so  we  are,  ain't  we?  "  she  demanded. 

"  But,"  said  I,  staring  at  my  shoe  again,  "  suppose  they 
imagine  —  " 

"  What,  Peregrine?  " 

"Evil  of  us?" 

"  What  matter,  s'  long  as  we  knows  different?  " 

"  But  I  cannot  bear  that  any  should  speak  or  even 
think  evil  of  you,  Diana  —  " 

"Never  mind  about  me  —  though  it's  kind  of  you!" 
she  added  in  that  suddenly  soft,  half-shy  tone  that  I  have 
before  attempted  to  describe.  "  Y'  see,"  she  continued, 
"nobody  ever  troubled  themselves  about  me  all  my  life, 
except  Jerry  —  or  them  as  I  keeps  my  little  knife  for. 
And  you  ain't  that  sort,  so  we  '11  go  on  together  until  I 
feels  like  leaving  you,  an'  then  I  '11  go  — " 

"Go  where,  Diana?" 

"  Back  to  the  lonely  places  —  " 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"  Nothing !  "  she  answered,  shaking  her  head.  "  You 
would  n't  never  understand.  But  I  '11  go  along  wi'  you 
to  Tonbridge." 

"  Very  well !  "  said  I.  "  And  on  the  way,  if  you  '11  allow 
me,  I  '11  teach  you  to  speak  more  correctly  and  to  behave 
with  a  —  a  little  more feminine  restraint  —  " 

"  Oh  —  and  why  should  I  ? "  she  demanded,  cheeks 
flushed  and  proud  head  aloft. 

"Because,"  I  answered,  struck  anew  by  her  beauty, 
"  though  you  look  like  a  goddess  you  speak  and  act  like 
a  — like  — " 

"A  what?     And  —  be  careful!"  she  warned. 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Come,  speak  out ! " 

"Indeed,  I  can  think  of  no  just  parallel;  you  are  like 
no  one  I  ever  saw  or  heard.  But  your  speech  and  actions 
often  do  not  match  yc^ir  looks." 


122  Peregrine's  Progress 

"  And  your  looks  don't  match  your  words  or  actions !  ** 
she  retorted,  "you  speak  s'  very  grand  and  look  s'  very 
—  g*  very  —  " 

"  What?  "  I  questioned  anxiously. 

"I  don't  know.  'T  is  n't  a  scarecrow  —  scarecrow's 
clothes  fits  better  —  but  you  looks  an*  acts  like  nobody  as 
ever  I  see  afore." 

"At  the  very  first  opportunity  I  will  certainly  pur- 
chase better  garments ! "  quoth  I,  scowling  down  at  the 
noxious  things  that  covered  me. 

"With  no  money?"  she  scoffed. 

"  I  have  my  watch !  "  quoth  I. 

"  They  '11  think  as  you  prigs  it  and  hand  you  over  to  the 
narks  an'  queer  cuffins  —  " 

"That  sounds  very  terrible;  what  do  you  mean?" 

"I  means  the  plastramengroes." 

"What  in  the  world  is  that?"  said  I. 

"  Oh,  Kooshti  duwell "  she  exclaimed.  "  You  don't  know 
nothin' ;  you  're  what  they  calls  a  rye,  ain't  you  ?  " 

"Pray,  what  is  a  rye?"  I  enquired,  a  little  diffidently. 

"  A  gorgio  gentleman,"  she  explained  patiently. 

"  What  should  give  you  that  impression  ?  " 

"  You  're  s'  different  to  the  *  Folk '  —  or  any  of  the  pad- 
ding kind." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  I  am  —  despite  my  clothes ! " 

"  Your  speech  is  soft  an'  your  ways  are  softer,  but  you 
have  a  high  an'  mighty  look  about  ye  at  times  —  although 
you  're  so  precious  green." 

"Green?" 

"As  grass !"  she  nodded.    "Very  green — like  your  name." 

*  My  name  is  Peregrine,  as  you  know." 

"  But  t'  other  suits  ye  best !  " 

"  You  grow  more  unkind,  Diana ! " 

"You  're  a  scholar  too,  o'  course?  " 

"  I  have  received  a  somewhat  careful  education." 

"What  d'  ye  know?" 

"Well,  I  am  fairly  conversant  with  Greek  and  Latin, 
though  a  trifle  shaky  on  the  higher  mathematics,  I  fear." 


How  We  Set  Out  for  Tonbridge     123 

"You've  read  lots  an'  lots  o'  books?" 

"I  have." 

"  And  you  're  nineteen  years  old?  " 

"  True ! " 

"  And  such  a  very  poor,  helpless  thing ! "  said  she  in 
lofty  scorn.  "Oh,  you  may  be  able  to  teach  me  how  t' 
speak  an'  how  t'  behave,  but  't  is  me  as  could  teach  ye  how 
to  live  without  friends  or  money !  You  may  know  how  to 
use  words  but  ye  can't  use  your  hands !  You  can  talk  but 
ye  can't  *  do  '  —  you  don't  know  how  to  help  yourself  nor 
nobody  else !  You  're  a  poor  creature  as  would  creep  into 
a  wet  ditch  an'  perish  o'  want  an'  misery — an'  all  be- 
cause you  're  so  full  o'  Greek  an'  Latin  an*  fine  airs  that 
you  can't  even  tell  how  many  beans  make  five ! "  Having 
said  which,  all  in  a  breath,  she  turned  and,  mounting  the 
ladder,  left  me  staring  vacantly  at  the  crumbling  wall  and 
greatly  humbled  since  all  these  indictments  I  knew  for 
very  truth.  Sitting  thus,  I  heard  her  descend  the  ladder, 
felt  her  hand  upon  my  bowed  shoulder  and  glancing  up, 
saw  her  eyes  big  and  soft  and  tender. 

"  Come,  Peregrine,"  said  she  in  her  gentle  voice,  "  let 
us  go,  and  while  we  walk  you  shall  give  me  my  first  lesson 
how  to  talk  —  and  behave,  if  you  will." 

"  No,"  said  I,  rising,  "  first  you  shall  teach  me  how 
to  be  a  little  less  of  a  fool.  Pray  —  how  many  beans  do 
make  five  ?  " 

"  Why,  four  an'  a  little  one,  o'  course,"  she  answered, 
with  a  tremulous  laugh. 

"  Diana,"  said  I,  clasping  her  hands  in  mine,  "  you 
were  exactly  right;  considering  all  my  advantages,  I  am 
indeed  a  poor,  helpless  sort  of  thing !  You  shall  teach  me 
how  to  become  a  little  wiser,  if  possible.  So  let  us  try  to 
help  each  other  like  friends,  Diana,  like  true  friends." 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  "  like  true  friends,  Peregrine." 

Then,  having  hidden  the  ladder  among  the  hay,  we  went 
forth  from  the  barn  into  the  sunshine  together. 


CHAPTER  XVHI 

CONCERNING    THE    GRAMMA!    OF    A    GODDESS 

A  BBOAD,  white  road  led  between  grassy  banks  topped 
by  hedgerows  and  trees  whose  wide-flung,  rusting  leafage 
cast  a  pleasant  shade,  while  high  in  the  sunny  air  a  lark 
carolled  faint  and  sweet  against  the  blue.  From  the  dis- 
tant woods  stole  a  wind  languorous  and  fragrant  of  dewy 
earth,  of  herb  and  flower,  a  wind  soft  as  a  caress  yet  vital 
and  full  of  promise  (as  it  were)  so  that  as  I  breathed  of 
it,  hope  and  strength  were  renewed  in  me  with  an  assurance 
of  future  achievement.  Filled  thus  with  an  ecstasy  un- 
known till  now,  I  stopped  suddenly  to  look  above  and 
round  about,  glad-eyed;  and  thus  presently  my  eager  gaze 
came  upon  my  companion  who  had  paused  also,  her  eyes 
upraised  to  watch  the  flight  of  a  mounting  lark.  Behold- 
ing her  in  this  graceful  posture,  so  vivid  with  life  and 
youthful  strength,  all  slim  shapeliness  from  wind-kissed 
hair  to  buckled  shoe,  she  seemed  the  spirit,  nay  the  very 
embodiment,  of  this  fair  midsummer  morning. 

"  O  Diana  ! "  I  exclaimed.  "  Is  it  not  good  to  be  alive  ?  " 

"  The  lark  seems  to  think  so,"  she  answered,  her  gaze 
still  uplifted.  "  Yet  I  wonder  if  he  is  truly  happy,  or 
sings  only  because  'tis  his  nature?" 

"  Because  he 's  happy,  of  course !  "  I  answered.  "  Who 
would  n't  be  happy  on  such  a  morning?  " 

"Well,  I  ain't,  for  one!" 

"Not  happy,  Diana  —  but  why?" 

"  Because ! " 

"Because  of  what?" 

"Oh,  never  mind!    Let's  go  on." 

"Won't  you  tell  me?" 

"  No.    Let 's  go  on." 

"Ma.y  I  not  share  your  sorrows,  Diana?"  I  enquired, 
and  laid  my  hand  on  her  arm;  but  she  shook  me  off, 


The  Grammar  of  a  Goddess        125 

though  not  before  I  had  seen  her  eyes  were  suffused  with 
tears.  Therefore  I  caught  and  held  her  hand  so  that  she 
stopped,  facing  me,  and  thus  I  saw  her  tears  were  falling 
and  she  not  troubling  to  hide  or  wipe  them  away. 

"  Can't  you  let  me  alone  ? "  she  sobbed. 

"  Why,  Diana !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  O  child,  don't  weep ; 
true  friends  must  share  sorrow  as  well  as  joy!  So,  if  we 
are  to  be  friends,  tell  me  what  is  troubling  you.'* 

"Yonder!"  said  she,  pointing  to  the  blue  distance  be- 
fore us.  "  'T  is  the  beyond  —  't  is  the  Future  as  do  fright 
me." 

"  But  I  thought  you  feared  nothing,  Diana  ?  " 

"  Only  myself ! "  she  cried,  throwing  out  her  arms  in  a 
sudden  wild  gesture.  "  There  be  a  devil  inside  o'  me 
sometimes  —  a  devil  as  even  old  Azor  was  afeard  of  an' 
most  o'  the  men  —  " 

"  Then  I  think  this  must  be  rather  a  good  devil,  Diana." 

"  Ah  no  —  no ! "  she  cried.  "  'T  is  a  devil  as  drives  me 
to  wild  thoughts  an'  ways  —  things  as  do  shame  me.  JT  is 
very  fierce  and  strong ! " 

"  Still,  I  do  not  think  I  fear  this  devil  —  or  ever  should, 
Diana." 

"  You  ?     But  you  calls  yourself  a  coward !  " 

"  To  be  sure  I  did,  and  very  properly,  because  I  was 
greatly  afraid  of  a  ruffian  with  a  bludgeon  and  fled  accord- 
ingly. But  I  do  not  fear  devils  in  the  least." 

"  Because  you  don't  know  —  " 

"  There  you  are  quite  wrong!  "  said  I,  patting  the  hand 
I  still  held  and  noting  its  strength  and  shapeliness.  "  For, 
and  apprehend  me,  Diana,  we  all,  each  one  of  us,  possess 
a  devil  large  or  small,  and  my  own  is  uncomfortably  big 
and  strong  occasionally,  and  very  difficult  to  overcome. 
But  this  is  what  devils  are  for  — " 

"  You  're  flamming  me !  "  she  cried  angrily  and  snatched 
her  hand  away. 

"  A  very  unpleasing  word !    Pray  what  does  it  signify  ?" 

"  You  're  gammoning  —  " 

'*  That  is  rather  worse  —  " 


ia6  Peregrine's   Progress 

"  You  're  making  game  o'  me ! " 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  'in  very  serious !  Don't  you  see, 
Diana,  that  all  demons  and  devils  are  a  means  to  our 
ultimate  good?  " 

»•  No,  I  don't !    How  can  they  be ?  " 

"In  this  manner:  every  devil,  be  he  an  evil  thought, 
passion,  hate  or  revenge,  a  desire  to  do  harm,  to  lie,  to 
steal,  to  kill  or  to  run  away  like  a  coward —  these  are 
all  demons  to  be  fought  with  and  overcome,  and  the 
oftener  we  vanquish  them,  the  stronger  and  better  we  grow, 
until  at  last  you  —  or  I  —  may  become  something  very 
near  an  angel." 

"  I  could  never  be  an  angel ! "  she  retorted  sullenly. 
"  And  what 's  more,  I  don't  want  —  " 

"  You  do,"  said  I,  "  indeed  you  do,  I  'm  sure,  or  why 
should  you  so  hate  this  devil  of  yours  and  fear  the  beyond? 
And  there  is  an  angel  inside  you,  Diana;  I  have  seen  it 
peep  at  me  through  your  eyes  —  " 

"  Now  I  think  you  're  talking  foolish ! "  said  she  pet- 
ulantly. 

"Perhaps  so,"  I  nodded,  "but  *  foolish*  is  an  adjective 
which  in  this  instance  should  be  an  adverb  and  which  we 
will  proceed  to  make  so  by  the  suffix  *  ly.'  Thus  instead  of 
saying,  I  talk  *  foolish,'  you  must  say  I  talk  *  foolishly' — " 

"  So  you  do !  "  quoth  she. 

"  Then  I  will  talk  grammar  instead,  Diana.  Pray  give 
me  your  most  careful  attention.  Yonder  is  a  tree,  which 
is  a  noun  common ;  the  tree  is  shady,  which  is  an  adjective 
qualifying  the  noun  *  tree,'  and  casts  its  shade  obliquely, 
which  is  an  adverb  governing  the  qualifying  verb  '  casts.' " 
Thus,  as  we  walked,  I  proceeded  to  give  her  a  definition 
of  the  various  parts  of  speech  with  their  relation  one  to 
another,  and  found  her  to  be,  on  the  whole,  very  quick 
and  of  a  retentive  memory.  Encouraged  thus,  I  plunged 
into  my  subject  whole-heartedly  and  was  discussing  the 
difference  between  transitive  and  intransitive  verbs  when 
she  checked  me  in  full  career  by  asking: 

"  Have  you  a  father  and  mother?  " 


The  Grammar  of  a  Goddess        127 

"  Good  heaven !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  What  has  this  to  do 
with  grammar?" 

"  Well,  but  have  you  ?  "  she  persisted. 

"  No,"  answered  I ;  "  they  died  before  I  can  remember." 

"  So  did  mine ! "  she  nodded.    "  But  you  have  friends  ?  " 

"  Yes. " 

"Many?" 

"  Three,"  I  answered.  "  To  be  particular,  one  aunt  and 
two  uncles." 

"Rich  folk,  ain't  they?" 

"  Well,  yes,  I  suppose  they  are.  And  allow  me  to  point 
out  that  the  word  *  ain't '  is  becoming  obsolete  in  polite 
conversation,  giving  place  to  *  are  not '  or  to  *  is  not '  as 
the  case  may  be.  Now,  returning  to  our  grammar — " 
And  forthwith  I  began  to  decline  for  her  benefit  verbs  regu- 
lar and  irregular,  together  with  their  tenses ;  I  parsed  and 
analysed  simple  sentences,  explaining  the  just  relation  of 
Subject,  Object  and  Predicate,  while  she  watched  me 
grave-eyed  and  listened  to  my  grammatical  dicta  with  an 
attention  that  I  found  highly  gratifying.  Thus  I  dilated 
upon  the  beauties  of  our  language,  its  wealth  of  metaphor 
and  adjectival  possibilities,  its  intricacies  and  pitfalls, 
until  the  sun  was  high  and  my  throat  parched. 

"There,  Diana,"  I  concluded,  "  here  endeth  our  first 
lesson  for  the  present.  I  trust  you  have  not  found  me 
too  discursive?" 

"Well,"  said  she,  knitting  her  black  brows  thought- 
fully, "  I  'm  not  sure.  It  all  sounds  very  —  wonderful, 
but  I  don't  understand  a  word  of  it." 

"  Great  heaven !  "  I  ej  aculated.  "  Why  could  you  not 
say  so  before?  " 

"  I  did  n't  like  to  interrupt  you." 

"  Here  I  have  been  talking  for  a  good  hour  —  " 

"  Two  hours,"  she  nodded ;  "  indeed,  you  're  a  wonder- 
ful talker!" 

"  But  all  to  no  purpose  it  seems ! "  said  I  ruefully. 

"  No,"  she  answered,  "  it  has  helped  to  pass  the  time 
and  I  knows  that  a  noun  is  a  tree." 


128  Peregrine's    Progress 

"Oh,  indeed!"  quoth  I.  "And  what  more  have  you 
learned?  " 

"  That  if  you  add  to  a  verb  it 's  an  adverb,  though 
both  arc  much  of  a  muchness,  and  an  adjective  is  not  like 
fit  her,  though  they  all  has  summat  to  do  with  a  tree  we 
passed  a  long  time  ago." 

At  this  I  gasped  and  sinking  down  in  a  shady  spot, 
fanned  myself  feebly  with  my  hat. 

"My  poor  child,'*  said  I  mournfully,  "my  poor  — 

"  I  'm  not  your  child !  "  she  retorted.  "  And  as  for 
poor  —  what  o'  this?  "  and  she  shook  the  bag  at  her  girdle 
until  the  coins  within  it  chinked. 

"  This  is  most  distressing ! "  said  I,  shaking  my  head. 

"What  is?" 

"  A  noun  is  not  a  tree  — " 

"  You  says  it  was  —  " 

"I  told  you  a  tree  was  a  noun  —  which  is  a  very  dif- 
ferent thing." 

"  If  a  tree 's  a  noun,  a  noun 's  a  tree  —  or  should  be, 
and  if  't  ain't,  then  grammar  's  foolish  and  I  don't  want 
none  of  it  —  " 

"That  sentence  is  execrable  grammar,  Diana,  because  two 
negatives  make  a  positive  hence  when  j'ou  say  '  you  don't 
want  none,'  it  really  means  that  you  do  want  some  — " 

"  I  don't  care ! "  she  said  in  her  sullen  fashion. 

"But  you  must — " 

"  Well,  I  shan't !  " 

; Don't  be  a  naughty  child,  Diana!  Please  come  and 
sit  down." 

"  I  hates  your  grammar  —  " 

'The  sun  is  very  hot,  Diana,  so  come  and  sit  down 
here  by  me  and  let  us  talk  like  the  true  friends  I  hope 
we  are." 

With  a  petulant  gesture  she  obeyed;  so  there  we  sat 
.Hrlc  by  side,  our  backs  to  the  broad  bole  of  the  great 
tree,  a  branch  of  which,  drooping  low,  made  for  us  a 
green  bower,  as  it  were.  And  here,  sitting  thus  side  by 
side,  we  continued  our  discussion  on  tliis  wise : 


The  Grammar  of  a  Goddess       129 

DIANA  (sullenly).  However,  I  don't  want  any  more 
o'  your  grammar ;  I  gets  along  well  enough  without  it  — 

MYSELF  (interrupting).  But  then  I  want  you  to  do 
much  more  than  just  get  along,  Diana. 

DIANA.     How  much  more? 

MYSELF.  Well,  I  want  you  to  live  to  the  utmost  of 
your  capacity,  to  make  the  very  best  of  yourself  and 
your  life,  to  become  the  wonderful  woman  you  may  be 
if  only  you  will.  And  this  you  can  never  do  without  a 
knowledge  of  grammar  and  deportment. 

DIANA.    And  why  d'  ye  want  me  to  do  —  to  be  all  this  ? 

MYSELF.  Because  it  is  a  duty  you  owe  to  the  world  and 
your  own  womanhood.  If  we  all  strove  to  do  our  best,  the 
world  would  become  a  better  place  for  everybody,  at  once. 

DIANA  (passionately).  Oh,  'tis  easy  for  you  to  talk  so 
fine;  you've  got  friends  —  rich  friends  t'  help  you!  But 
who  have  I  got  — 

MYSELF.  Well,  Diana,  his  name,  as  I  told  you  before, 
is  Peregrine. 

DIANA.     You  ? 

MYSELF.    Precisely  — • 

DIANA.     D'  ye  mean — what  do  you  mean? 

MYSELF.  That  I  will  be  your  true  friend  always  — 
to  help  you  so  long  as  you  need  —  if  you  will  have  me. 
My  friends  shall  be  your  friends  —  especially  my  aunt 
Julia,  who  is  the  noblest  and  best  of  women  — 

DIANA  (ungraciously).  A  Kooshti  para  rati  —  a  true 
rawni  —  a  grand  lady,  I  s'pose? 

MYSELF.    She  is  a  truly  great  lady.     , 

DIANA.     And  wears  silk  gowns  that  rustle,  I  s'pose? 

MYSELF  (mystified).  I  believe  her  gowns  do  rustle  — 
but  what  in  the  world  —  ? 

DIANA.     Then  I  should  hate  her! 

MYSELF.  But  why?  In  the  name  of  reason  why  under 
heaven  should —  ? 

DIANA.     Just  because! 

MYSELF.  Pray  be  more  explicit.  Why  should  you  hate 
one  whom  —  ? 


130  Peregrine's   Progress 

DIANA.  Because  she  'd  rustle  her  fine  silks  at  me  and 
look  through  me  and  try  to  make  me  feel  I  was  only  small 
beer. 

MYSELF.  'Small  beer'  is  an  extremely  unpleasing 
phrase,  Diana. 

DIANA.  But  it  tells  ye  what  I  mean.  I  sees  grand 
ladies  afore  to-day  and  I  don't  want  any  of  'em  to  rustle 
at  me!  I  won't  have  their  pity  and  I  don't  want  their 
help —  I  likes  the  silent  places  and  my  little  churi  best. 

MYSELF.  My  aunt  Julia  is  a  very  noble  woman,  as  good 
as  she  is  beautiful,  a  woman  whom  all  respect  and  honour — 

DIANA.     Well,  I  hates  her  already. 

MYSELF.  That  is  exceedingly  unreasonable !  How  can 
you  hate  one  you  have  never  seen? 

DIANA.     Easily. 

MYSELF.    But  in  heaven's  name,  why  ? 

DIANA.     Because  I  do! 

MYSELF.  That  is  no  answer !  (Here  she  scowled  at  me.) 
Pray  be  sensible,  Diana!  (Here  she  kicked  viciously  at 
a  tuft  of  grass.)  Indeed  you  make  it  very  difficult  for  me 
to  help  you. 

"  I  don't  want  your  help  either ! "  she  retorted  angrily. 

"  Xo  matter!"  quoth  I,  folding  my  arms.  "My  mind 
is  quite  made  up." 

"  So  is  mine ! "  and  speaking,  she  would  have  risen,  but 
I  caught  a  fold  of  her  petticoat.  "  Let  go ! "  she  cried. 

"  Sit  still,  Diana,  and  listen  to  me ! " 

"Let  me  go!" 

"  Not  until  you  have  heard  all  I  wish  to  say  —  "  As 
I  spoke,  with  a  movement  incredibly  quick,  she  flashed 
out  her  knife. 

"  What,  Diana,"  said  I,  staring  into  her  fierce  eyes, 
"do  you  think  that  is  necessary  with  me?  Would  you 
harm  your  friend,  child?"  The  fierce  eyes  drooped  and, 
averting  her  head,  she  sat  mute  and  still.  "  I  am  going 
to  help  you,"  I  continued,  "  because  in  spite  of  any  or 
every  demon,  I  know  you  are  sweet  and  pure  and  good." 

"How — d'  ye  know  this?"  she  questioned. 


« 


The  Grammar  of  a  Goddess       131 

"  I  know  it,  I  am  sure  of  it  —  oh,  well  —  because ! " 

"  That 's  no  answer !  "  said  she  in  her  turn. 

"  Still,  I  think  you  know  what  I  mean.  But,  and  this 
is  very  sure,  Diana,  because  I  respect  you,  I  would  have 
the  world  respect  you.  And  therefore  I  am  going  to  help 
you  however  I  may.  So  that  is  settled  once  for  all." 

"  Suppose  I  —  runs  away?  " 

"  I  shall  have  to  find  you,  of  course.'* 

"  Then  you  —  don't  want  to  be  rid  o'  me  —  so  much  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not !  " 

"  But  you  offered  me  your  gold  watch  to  — " 

"  True !  "  I  admitted,  a  little  put  out.  "  But  I  —  I  did 
not  know  or  understand  you  —  then." 

"  And  do  you  now  ?  " 

"I  think  so  —  or  at  least  enough  to  know  that  you 
can  also  help  me  if  you  will  —  " 

"How  could  I  help  you?"  she  questioned  wistfully. 

"  You  might  perhaps  teach  me  to  be  —  less  of  a  coward 
—  more  like  yourself  —  " 

"Like  me?"  she  repeated,  wondering. 

"  You  are  so  strong,  Diana,  so  brave  and  fearless  and 
I  —  ran  away  like  the  coward  I  am  —  left  you  alone  to 
face  —  " 

Here,  once  more  overcome  by  memory  of  my  shame, 
I  covered  my  face;  but  now,  all  at  once,  perceiving  my 
abasement  and  bitter  remorse,  moved  by  a  sweet  impulse 
she  clasped  her  arm  about  my  stooping  shoulders  and 
sought  earnestly  to  comfort  me. 

"There,  there,"  she  murmured,  her  voice  very  soft  and 
sweet,  "  never  grieve  so,  Peregrine  —  you  're  no  coward ! 
When  a  coward  runs  away,  he  keeps  running  in  the  same 
direction;  a  coward  don't  come  back  to  be  beaten  black 
and  blue  —  see  your  poor  face ! " 

"  You  laughed  at  it  this  morning !"  said  I,  striving  to 
steady  my  voice. 

"Yes,  I  know  I  did,  but  only  —  only  because!"  she 
answered  gently.  "  But  you  ain't  —  I  mean  are  not  —  a 
coward;  you  fought  your  best  — " 


132  Peregrine's   Progress 

"  But  to  no  purpose !  "  I  added  bitterly.  "  Nature  ha? 
shaped  me  in  such  puny  mould,  I  'm  so  miserably  weak 

—  "     Here  the  arm  tightened  and,  conscious  thus  of  all 
the  throbbing  strength  and  vitality  of  her,  I  felt  my  own 
weakness   the  more.     "  Oh,  I  'm  a  miserable,  undersized 
rat!"  I  groaned. 

"  Hush ! "  she  whispered,  as  if  I  had  shocked  her. 
"  'T  isn't  size  or  strength  as  wins  a  fight,  Peregrine ;  't  is 
quickness  an'  knowing  how  —  but  most  of  all  being  game- 
plucked.  The  next  time  a  man  hits  ye,  stand  away  and 
lu't  back;  there's  nothing  will  keep  a  man  from  hitting 
you  like  hitting  him  often  and  hard." 

"  It  seems  that  my  uncles  were  right,  after  all ! "  said 
I.  "  Hard  knocks  are  sometimes  more  efficacious  than  the 
best-reasoned  arguments.  You  have  seen  many  fights,  I 
suppose,  Diana?" 

"Lots!" 

"  I  wish  you  could  teach  me  how  it  is  done ! " 

"Why,  so  I  will,  Peregrine  —  stand  up!  Now,"  she 
admonished,  as  we  faced  each  other,  "  put  up  your  hands 

—  so ! "    Hereupon  I  imitated  her  posture.     "  Now,"  she 
continued,  "  I  'm  going  to  hit  you  in  the  face ! "  which 
she  immediately  did,  though  lightly  and  with  her  open 
hand.    "  Now  hit  me  if  you  can,  Peregrine." 

But  though  I  tried  my  best,  she  was  so  wonderfully 
quick  and  light  upon  her  feet  that  I  smote  but  empty  air 
or  my  blows  were  parried,  while  her  hands  flashed,  now 
here,  now  there,  to  pat  and  tap  my  face  as  often  as  she 
would.  So  we  sparred  together  until,  flushed  and  laughing 
and  breathless,  we  paused  by  common  consent. 

And  thus  I  had  my  first  lesson  in  the  Noble  Art. 

"  You  do  be  very  light  o*  your  feet ! "  said  she  as  we 
sat  side  by  side  beneath  the  tree  again,  "and  much 
quicker  than  I  thought,  Peregrine ! " 

"I  —  I'm  glad  —  very  glad  you  think  so!"  I  answered 
vastly  elated  by  this  praise. 

*  Yes,  if  you  had  proper  teaching,  you  might  be  able 
to  take  your  part  against  most  o'  them." 


The  Grammar  of  a  Goddess       133 

Now  at  this  I  became  filled  with  such  a  glow  of  pleasure 
as  amazed  me  by  its  intensity,  such  indeed  as  no  praise 
from  tutors  or  even  my  loved  aunt  Julia  had  ever  inspired. 

"  Though  to  be  sure,"  she  added,  "  't  would  all  depend 
on  whether  you  was  game-plucked.  No,  size  don't  always 
count ;  why,  Jessamy  Todd  ain't  —  is  not  —  much  bigger 
than  you." 

"And  who  is  he?" 

"  Lord,  have  n't  you  heard?  Why,  Jessamy  was  one  of 
the  greatest,  fiercest  fighters  that  ever  was,  they  say! 
But  he  had  the  ill-luck  to  kill  a  man  and  turned  religious." 

"  Do  you  know  him?  " 

"  Very  well.     I  've  heard  him  preach  often." 

"Preach?"  said  I. 

"Yes,  Jessamy  never  fights  now  —  unless  he  has  to  — 
goes  about  preaching.  And  he  preaches  as  well  as  he 
used  to  fight,  and  sings  as  well  as  he  preaches." 

"  I  should  like  to  meet  Jessamy  Todd,"  said  I. 

"  Well,  so  you  will,  if  you  pad  the  hoof  long  enough. 
:But  now,  what  o'clock  is  it?" 

"Half -past  twelve,"  I  answered,  consulting  my  watch. 
"Yet  surely  it  can't  be  so  late?  " 

"  But  it  is  —  look  at  the  sun !  And  don't  you  feel  't  is 
dinner  time?  There's  a  little  tavern  down  the  lane  yon- 
der—  let's  go  and  eat." 

"  Not  unless  I  pay  for  it  —  " 

"With  no  money?" 

"  Here  is  my  watch ! " 

"  Don't  be  foolish ! "  she  exclaimed,  springing  to  her 
feet.  "  Get  up  and  come  along,  do !  No,  stay  where  you 
are;  things  will  taste  sweeter  out  here — they  always  do. 
Only  don't  go  trying  to  run  off  or  any  such  foolishness  — 
just  stay  where  you  are  an'  wait  for  me." 

"But  —  " 

"  I  won't  be  long  —  so  promise ! " 

"  I  promise ! " 

Waiting  for  no  more,  she  sped  away  all  lithe  and  vig- 
orous grace ;  when  she  was  out  of  sight,  I  lay  upon  my 


134          Peregrine's   Progress 

back  and,  staring  up  at  the  rustling  canopy  above,  became 
lost  in  thought,  wondering,  among  other  things,  if  I  could 
ever  possibly  attain  unto  that  mysterious  virtue  she  had 
called  *  game-plucked '  and  j  ust  precisely  what  it  might 
be. 


CHATTER  XIX 

HOW  AND  WHY  I  FOUGHT  WITH   ONE  GABBING  DICE, 
A  PEDDLEB 

"  You  won't  be  wantin'  ever  a  broom,  now?" 

Starting  up  in  no  little  amazement,  I  beheld  a  man  who 
bore  a  bundle  of  brooms  upon  his  shoulder  and  a  pack  upon 
his  back,  while  round  his  neck  dangled  ribbands  and  laces 
of  many  colours  and  varieties ;  a  smallish,  grizzled,  plump 
man  with  an  ill-natured  face. 

"You  won't  be  wantin'  ever  a  broom?"  he  repeated. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  I  answered ;  "  though  indeed  I  should 
think  it  was  sufficiently  obvious." 

"  Nor  yet  a  mop  ?  " 

"  No ! " 

"  Why  then,  a  belt?  'Ow  about  a  fine,  leather  belt  wi* 
a  good  steel  buckle  made  in  Brummagem?  " 

"  I  could  n't  buy  anything  of  you  if  I  wished,"  I  ex- 
plained, "  because  I  have  no  money." 

"  Eh  —  no  money?  "  said  the  man,  turning  to  spit  into 
the  road.  "No  money  —  eh?  Then  wot  about  'er,  the 
Eve  as  you  was  a  kissy-cuddlin'  —  " 

"I  was  not!" 

"  Oh!  "  he  exclaimed,  "  then  if  not,  why  not?  Yah,  ye 
can't  gammon  me!  She's  a  Eve,  ain't  she,  an*  all  Eves 
loves  a  bit  o'  kissy-cuddly.  An'  she  looks  a  nice  warm 
armful,  so  why  not  try?  Better  soon  nor  late !  " 

"  What  d'  you  mean? "  I  demanded,  trembling  with 
indignation. 

"  I  mean  as  she 's  a  Eve,  an'  all  Eves  loves  a  bit  o* 
kissy-cuddly  an' — " 

"  That  will  do ! "  cried  I,  clenching  my  fists.  "  I  've 
told  you  I  can  purchase  none  of  your  wares,  so  pray 
have  the  goodness  to  cease  your  importunities  and  go." 


136  Peregrine's   Progress 

"Go?"  said  the  Peddler.  "An'  why  should  I  go? 
I  uin't  a-trespassin'  on  your  private  property,  am  I?  No, 
because  't  is  a  public  'ighway.  Very  good !  An'  England  's 
a  free  country,  ain't  it?  It  is!  Very  good  again!  I 
ain't  a-goin'  to  go  until  I  wants  to  go;  you  can't  make 
me  go  nor  nobody  else.  So  'ere  I  waits  till  your  Eve 
comes  back.  An'  why  ?  'Cause  if  you  ain't  got  no  money 
—  she  'as,  I'll  lay,  an'  I've  ribbands  an'  laces,  rings  an' 
garters  as  no  Eve  can  say  *  No '  to.  Besides,  she  looks  a 
fine  gal  as  Eves  go,  an'  there  's  enough  o'  the  old  Adam 
inside  o'  me  to  —  " 

"  Are  you  going?  "    I  demanded. 

"  Not  me ! "  he  answered,  turning  to  spit  at  a  butterfly 
that  hovered  near.  "  I  'm  a  free-born  Briton,  I  am,  as 
scorns  the  furrin'  yoke !  " 

Hereupon  I  rose,  that  is  to  say,  I  forced  my  unwilling 
body  upon  my  shaking  legs  and  faced  him. 

"  Then  I  must  do  my  best  to  make  you ! "  said  I,  with 
as  much  stern  resolution  in  voice  and  look  as  I  could 
summon. 

"What  —  you?"  exclaimed  the  Peddler,  regarding  me 
with  eye  of  scorn.  "You  —  eh?"  he  repeated.  "Well, 
burn  my  neck,  there 's  imperence  for  ye ! " 

"  Put  up  your  hands !  "  said  I. 

"What— fight,  is  it?" 

"  It  is ! "  said  I.  "  Unless  you  prefer  to  depart  immedi- 
ately." 

"  Well,  twist  my  innards !  M  exclaimed  the  Peddler,  lay- 
ing aside  his  brooms.  "The  owdacious  young  willin'  ! 
Wants  t*  fight !  An'  'im  sich  a  young  whipper-snapper !  " 

He  was  a  middle-aged  man,  squat  of  figure  with  short, 
plump  legs,  but  I  thought  him  formidable  enough  and  felt 
the  old  nauseating  fear  growing  upon  me  as  I  watched  the 
determined  manner  in  which  he  prepared  for  the  approach- 
ing combat.  Having  removed  his  pack  and  the  multifarious 
articles  that  draped  his  person,  he  took  off  his  coat,  folded 
it  neatly  and  laid  it  by,  which  done,  he  slowly  rolled  up  his 
shirt  sleeves,  eyeing  me  fiercely  and  scowling  portentously 


Why  I  Fought  with  a  Peddler     137 

the  while.  Now  as  I  watched  him,  my  sweating  palms 
tight-clenched,  my  jaws  hard-locked  to  prevent  my  teeth 
from  chattering,  the  thought  occurred  to  me  that  the  hurts 
I  was  about  to  endure  and  endeavour  to  inflict  should 
not  only  save  Diana  from  evil,  but  might  also  prove  to 
her  (and  myself)  if  I  were  indeed  possessed  of  that  thing 
she  called  '  game-pluck.' 

At  this  moment  my  opponent  rapped  himself  soundly 
upon  the  chest  and  nodded  fiercely;  quoth  he: 

"  I  'm  a-goin'  t'  gi'e  ye  two  more  black  heyes  to  start  wi', 
and  'aving  draw'd  your  claret  an'  knocked  out  a  tusk  or 
so,  I'll  finish  the  job  by  leatherin'  ye  wi*  one  o'  my  best 
leather  belts  wi'  a  fine,  steel  buckle  made  in  Brum  —  " 

But  here  I  launched  myself  at  him  and,  forgetting  all 
caution  in  my  trembling  eagerness,  beset  the  fellow  with  a 
wild  hurly-burly  of  random  blows,  one  or  two  of  which 
found  their  mark,  j  udging  by  his  grunts ;  then  his  fist 
crashed  into  my  ribs,  driving  me  reeling  back  so  that  I 
should  have  fallen  but  for  the  friendly  tree.  This  steadied 
me  (in  more  senses  than  one)  for  in  this  moment  I  re- 
membered Diana's  admonition,  and,  seeing  him  rush  in 
to  finish  me,  I  stepped  aside  and  as  his  fist  shot  by  my 
ear,  I  smote  him  flush  upon  the  side  of  his  bristly  chin; 
and  lo,  to  my  wonder  and  fearful  joy,  he  spun  round  and 
came  violently  to  earth  in  a  sitting  posture !  For  a  mo- 
ment he  sat  thus,  staring  wide-eyed  at  nothing  in  particu- 
lar; then  I  stepped  forward  and  tendered  him  my  hand. 

"What  now?"  he  gasped. 

"  Let  me  help  you  up ! "  I  panted. 

"  Whaffor?  "  he  demanded. 

"That  I  may  —  knock  you  down  again  —  as  speedily 
as  possible,"  I  answered. 

"  Not  me !  "  he  answered,  feeling  his  chin  in  gentle,  ten- 
tative fashion.  "  I  'm  j  olted  sufficient  an'  the  ground 's 
danged  'ard  'ereabouts  !  An'  wot 's  more  —  why,  burn  my 
neck  —  it 's  Anna !  "  he  broke  off  and  pointed  with  stubby 
finger.  Turning  about,  I  beheld  Diana  on  the  other  side 
of  the  hedge.  And  she  was  looking  at  me ! 


138  Peregrine's   Progress 

"  Ha,  well  done,  Peregrine ! "  she  exclaimed ;  at  which, 
and  because  of  the  expression  in  her  eyes,  I  felt  again 
that  strange  sense  of  joyous  exhilaration  which  had 
thrilled  me  once  before,  insomuch  that  I  felt  almost  sorry 
the  combat  was  ended  so  soon.  Then,  before  I  might  aid 
her,  she  was  through  the  hedge  and  shaking  my  hand  as 
a  man  might  have  done. 

"Lord  love  me!"  ejaculated  the  Peddler,  scrambling  to 
his  feet.  "  So  you  've  turned  into  a  Eve  at  last,  'ave  yer, 
Anna?  You  as  couldn't  abide  a  man!  An'  'ere  you  be 
in  a  nice  little  garden  o'  Eden  along  o'  your  Adam,  eh? 
Found  yourself  a  lad  at  last  for  kissy-cuddly,  eh?  You 
as  was  so  prim!  What '11  folks  say  when  I  tell  'em?" 

"  That  you  'm  a  liar,  Gabbing  Dick,  as  big  a  liar  as  ever 
you  was." 

"  When  I  tells  folk  as  Anna  's  took  up  wi'  a  lad  at  last 
—  an*  'im  such  a  whipper-snapper!  When  I  tell  'em  as 
*ow  you  —  " 

"  That 's  enough ! "  cried  I  passionately.  "  Take  your 
things  and  go  before  I  endeavour  to  kill  you  —  " 

"Lord,  Peregrine!"  said  Diana,  viewing  me  in  big- 
eyed  wonder.  "  'T  is  only  Gabbing  Dick,  and  he  must 
talk  dirt,  but  nobody  minds." 

"  Well,  I  do,  and  if  he  does  n't  depart  immediately  —  " 

"  Depart  's  th'  word ! "  nodded  the  Peddler,  and  taking 
up  his  pack  he  adjusted  it,  shouldered  his  brooms  and 
then  paused  to  spit  thoughtfully.  "What '11  folk  say 
when  I  tell  'em  as  I  see  you  kissy-cuddlin'  a  whipper-snap- 
per- 
Clenching  my  fists  I  took  a  step  towards  him ;  saw  him 
shrink  away,  staring,  not  at  me,  but  the  knife  in  Diana's 
hand. 

"Hop,  Dick,  hop!"  said  she,  making  the  blade  flash 
and  glitter  evilly,  whereupon  the  fellow,  clutching  his 
wares,  made  off  with  sudden  alacrity ;  but  being  at  a  dis- 
tance he  stopped  and  turned. 

"  I  'opes,"  he  cried,  "  I  do  'ope  as  your  Adam  tires  o' 
ye  an'  leaves  ye  despairin'  —  danged  soon,  an'  that 's  for 


Why  I  Fought  with  a  Peddler     139 

you,  Anna !  An'  I  'opes  as  she  pokes  out  both  your  eyes 
for  ye  —  both  on  'em,  mind  —  an'  that 's  for  you,  young 
whipper-snapper ! 

Then  he  spat  towards  us,  nodded,  and  hasted  off  along 
the  road. 

"  And  now,  let 's  have  dinner !  "  said  Diana. 

"  Dinner?  "  I  repeated,  frowning  after  my  late  antago- 
nist. 

"  Beef,  Peregrine !  '* 


CHAPTER  XX 

OF  THE  TONGUE  OF  A  WOMAN  AND  THE  FEET  OF  A  GODDESS 

ROAST  beef  is  now,  has  been,  and  probably  will  be,  long 
acclaimed  and  proclaimed  by  every  true-born  Englishman 
as  his  own  pecular  diet;  vide  the  old  song: 

"  When  mighty  Roast  Beef  was  the  Englishman's  food 
It  ennobled  our  hearts  and  enriched  our  blood. 
O  the  Roast  Beef  of  Old  England 
And  O  for  old  England's  Roast  Beef !" 

By  long  association  and  assimilation  it  has  become,  as 
it  were,  a  national  asset,  a  very  part  and  parcel  of  the 
British  constitution. 

From  ages  dim  and  remote  it  has  gone  to  the  building 
of  a  sturdy  race  which,  by  dint  of  hard  knocks  and  harder 
heads,  has  won  for  itself  a  mighty  Empire.  Our  Saxon 
ancestors  devoured  it;  our  Norman  conquerors  scorned, 
tasted  and  —  ate  of  it;  our  stout  yeomen  throve  on  it; 
our  squires  and  gentry  hunt,  fight,  make  speeches  and 
laws  upon  it;  and  doubtless  future  generations  shall  do 
the  like. 

As  for  myself,  I  have  frequently  eaten  of  it,  though 
never,  I  fear,  with  either  that  awe  or  appetite  which  such 
noble  fare  justly  demands.  But  to-day  within  this  green 
bower,  blessed  by  a  gentle  wind  that  rustled  the  leaves 
about  me  and  stirred  Diana's  glossy  tresses  where  she  sat 
beside  me,  I  ate  of  beef,  cold,  and  set  between  slices  of 
new  bread,  —  ate  with  a  reverent  joy  as  any  healthy  young 
Briton  should.  And  presently,  meeting  the  bright  glance 
of  my  companion,  I  sighed. 

"Diana,**  said  I,  "heaven  sends  dew  for  the  flower, honey 
for  the  bee  and  butterfly,  the  worm  for  the  bird,  and  beef 


Of  the  Tongue  of  a  Woman       141 

for  the  Briton.  Let  us  then  be  duly  thankful  that  we  are 
neither  flower,  butterfly  nor  bird." 

"  It  would  be  worse  to  be  the  worm,  I  think,"  she  an- 
swered. 

Alas !  It  seemed  we  were  not  to  be  long  unmolested 
for,  roused  by  a  shuffling  step,  I  glanced  hastily  up  and 
beheld  an  old  woman  hobbling  towards  us  bent  upon  a 
stick,  a  miserably  ragged,  furtive,  hag-like  creature  who 
nodded  and  leered  upon  us  as  she  came. 

"  Lor',  Ann ! "  she  cried  in  queer,  piping  tones.  "  Lor- 
ramity,  Ann  —  so  you  've  fell  in  love  at  last,  'ave  ye, 
dearie?  And  why  not,  my  pretty,  why  not?  There's' 
nowt  like  a  bit  o'  love  —  'cept  it  be  a  bit  o'  beef !  O  Ann, 
gi'e  's  a  bite  o'  the  good  meat  —  a  mouthful  for  poor  old 
Moll,  do  'ee  now  —  do!" 

"  Why,  for  sure !  "  answered  Diana.  "  You  can  eat 
and  welcome,  Moll ;  sit  ye  down  here  by  me  and  rest  your 
old  bones.  And  I  ain't  fallen  in  love  wi'  no  one,  Moll." 

"  Ain't  you,  Ann ;  lor',  dearie,  ain't  you !  "  piped  the  old 
creature,  snatching  the  food  Diana  offered.  "But  what 
about  your  nice  young  pal  'ere?  Is  'e  for  comp'ny's  sake 
—  jest  to  keep  away  the  solitood,  eh,  dearie?" 

"  We're  padding  ii  to  Tonbridge,  Moll." 

"  Tonbridge  —  hey !  "  gabbled  this  fearsome  old  woman, 
clawing  at  the  meat  with  her  bony,  talon-like  fingers 
in  a  highly  offensive  manner.  "  Tonbridge,  hey,  dearie?  " 
she  mumbled,  stuffing  the  meat  into  her  mouth  until  I 
wondered  she  did  not  choke  to  death  outright.  "  'T  is  a 
goodish  step  from  'ere,  dearie,"  she  gasped,  when  at  last 
she  could  speak,  "a  goodish  bit  an'  love  may  ketch  ye 
afore  ye  get  there  —  eh,  dearie,  eh?  I  'ope's  it  do,  for 
love 's  a  pretty  thing  when  you  're  young — I  know,  for  I 
was  young  once  —  aye  an'  'ansome  too,  I  was  —  " 

fti  don't  love  anybody,  Moll,  and  never  shall." 

*c  Don't  say  that,  dearie,  oh,  don't  say  that !  Some 
man  '11  win  an'  tame  ye  yet,  for  all  your  proud,  wild  ways 
an'  little  knife  —  'e  will,  dearie  — 'e  will;  maids  is  for 
men  an'  men  —  " 


142  Peregrine's  Progress 


"  Never  think  it,  Moll!"  said  Diana,  shaking  her  head. 
"  As  for  men,  I  hates  'em  and  always  shall  —  " 

*'  What  d*  ye  say  t'  that,  my  fine,  nice  laddie  —  eh,  eh?  " 
piped  the  old,  witch-like  creature,  leering  at  me  hideously. 
"Ann's  a  beauty,  ain't  she?  Made  to  be  kissed  an'  all, 
ain't  she,  eh?  If  I  was  you,  I  'd  kiss  'er  afore  ye  reached 
the  next  milestone  an'  that  ain't  fur  —  kiss  'er  afore  she 
knowed,  I  would,  an'  if  she  takes  it  unkind,  never  trouble, 
jest  you  wait  till  she's  asleep  —  steal  'er  little  knife  an'  —  " 

"  Let  us  go ! "  said  I  hastily,  getting  to  my  feet. 

"  That 's  th'  sperrit,  laddie,  that 's  th'  sperrit ! "  croaked 
the  old  woman.  "  Afore  th'  next  milestone  —  on  th'  lips ! 
All  maids  love  it  an'  so  '11  she,  'spite  all  'er  skittish  ways 
—  on  'er  mouth,  mind !  " 

But  I  hasted  away,  nor  paused  until  I  was  some  distance 
down  the  road,  then  glancing  back,  I  saw  Diana  bestow 
on  this  frightful  old  creature  all  that  remained  of  our 
dinner,  and  money  besides. 

"A  truly  dreadful  old  person,  Diana!"  said  I,  as  she 
joined  mo.  "I  wonder  you  can  stop  to  consort  or  speak 
with  such  —  " 

"  She 's  a  woman,  after  all,  Peregrine,  very  old  and  worn 
and  generally  hungry.  And  how  can  it  harm  me  to  be  a 
little  kind  to  her?" 

"  She  suggests  vile  things ! " 

"  What  o'  that,  if  she  don't  do  'em,  or  make  others  do 
'era?" 

"A  horrible  creature!"  I  repeated. 

"  Without  a  friend  in  the  world,  Peregrine." 

"  Do  you  happen  to  be  acquainted  with  every  discred- 
itable vagabond  hereabouts,  Diana?" 

"  I  knows  most  o'  th'  padding  kind,  trampers  and  sech. 
There'll  be  many  going  Tonbridge  way  to-day  and  to- 
morrow, because  o'  the  fair." 

4  Then  cannot  we  reach  Tonbridge  by  ways  unfre- 
quented?" 

"There's  the  field-paths,  though  'twill  take  us  a  day 
longer  —  maybe  two  —  " 


Of  the  Tongue  of  a  Woman       143 

"  No  matter,  let  us  go  by  the  field-paths,  Diana." 

So  we  presently  struck  off  from  the  great,  dusty  high- 
road and  went  by  ways  pleasantly  sequestered.  By  shady 
copse  and  rustling  cornfield;  past  lonely  farms  and  rick- 
yards  ;  past  placid  cows  that  chewed,  somnolent,  in  the 
shade  of  trees  or  stood  knee-deep  in  stilly  pools;  past 
hop-gardens  from  whose  long,  green  alleys  stole  a  fra- 
grance warm  and  acridly  sweet ;  past  rippling  streams  that 
murmured  drowsily,  sparkling  amid  mossy  boulders  or 
over  pebbly  beds;  past  rustics  stooped  to  their  leisured 
toil  who  straightened  bowed  backs  to  peer  after  us  under 
sunburned  hands ;  wheresoever  I  looked,  I  found  some  new 
matter  for  delight. 

The  afternoon  was  very  hot  for  the  wind  had  fallen, 
and,  being  somewhat  distressed  and  weary  with  travel,  I 
was  greatly  tempted  to  propose  a  halt  that  I  might  rest 
and  feast  my  sight  upon  the  many  and  varied  beauties  of 
this  Kentish  countryside,  but  seeing  Diana  walk  with  the 
same  smooth,  tireless  stride,  I  forbore  for  very  shame. 

The  stream  we  were  following  presently  brought  us  to 
a  wood  where  leaves  rustled  lazily,  birds  chirped  drowsily 
and  the  brook  whispered  slumberously ;  a  shady  wood 
where  wearied  travellers  might  rest  awhile,  and,  their 
troubles  lulled  to  sleep,  dream  of  journeys  ended  and 
happiness  to  be. 

Here  my  companion  paused;  and  watching  her  as  she 
stood  to  stare  down  into  the  stream  that  widened  here- 
abouts to  a  placid  pool,  it  seemed  to  me  more  than  ever 
that  she  was  akin  to  the  beauties  around  us,  herself  the 
spirit  of  these  solitudes. 

"  O  Diana ! "  I  exclaimed,  beholding  her  rapt  expres- 
sion. "Do  you  see  it  —  feel  it  too  —  all  the  unending 
wonder  of  it?  " 

"  Well,  Peregrine,"  she  answered,  her  gaze  still  bent 
upon  the  pool,  "  I  be  wondering  where  we  shall  eat  and 
sleep  to-night,  for  we  're  miles  away  from  Brasted — " 

"  Heavens,  child ! "  I  exclaimed,  seating  myself  beside 
the  stream.  "  Have  you  no  soul?  Cannot  you  soar  above 


144  Peregrine's  Progress 

such  base  material  wants?  Listen  to  the  voice  of  this 
brook;  has  it  no  message  for  you?" 

"It  sounds  cool,  lYrr<;nne,  so  while  you  rest,  I  '11  bathe 
my  feet."  And  sitting  down,  off  came  her  shoes  and  stock- 
ings forthwith. 

Now  though,  after  my  first  startled  glance,  I  kept  iny 
eyes  averted,  I  could  not  help  being  very  conscious  of  these 
white  feet  as  they  splashed  and  dabbled  beside  me  and  of 
their  slim  shapeliness. 

"Diana,  have  you  indeed  no  soul?"  I  repeated. 

"  If  I  have,  it  don't  trouble  me  much ! "  she  answered. 
"  Why  don't  you  dabble  your  feet ;  't  is  better  than  dri'  1:- 

ing?" 

"  O  girl,"  I  sighed,  "  have  you  no  thought  beyond  your 
immediate  bodily  needs,  no  dreams  of  the  greater  — 

"  Dreams  ?  "  she  exclaimed  bitterly.  "  It  don't  do  for 
the  likes  o'  me  to  go  a-dreaming !  Let  them  dream  as  can 
afford." 

"But  even  the  poorest,  humblest  of  us  may  have  our 
dreams,  Diana,  visions  of  a  greater  self  and  nobler  living. 
Dreams  are  the  soul's  relaxation  and  inspire  us  to  higher 
purpose.  I  think  it  is  this  faculty  that  lifts  us  above  the 
brute  creation." 

Here,  finding  my  companion  silent,  I  glanced  up  to  be- 
hold her  watching  a  man  who  was  approaching  astride 
of  a  shaggy,  bare-backed  pony,  a  dark-complexioned,  im- 
pudent-looking fellow  with  bright  eyes  and  a  wide  mouth. 
At  sight  of  us,  he  checked  his  steed  with  a  jerk  of  the 
halter,  smote  his  boot  with  the  stout  ash  stick  he  carried, 
and  burst  into  a  shout  of  laughter.  Here  again  I  became 
extremely  conscious  of  Diana's  pretty,  naked  feet;  but 
the  fellow  never  even  so  much  as  glanced  towards  them. 

"Aha,  Anna!"  he  cried.  "Whose  mother's  j'y  ha'  ye 
got  theer?  "  and  he  pointed  at  me.  At  this  she  turned 
and  spoke  angrily  in  that  unknown  speech  she  had  used 
with  old  A/or  and  in  which  he  answered  her.  Thus  they 
talked  awhile,  Diana  scowling  and  fierce,  he  grinning  and 
impudent. 


Of  the  Tongue  of  a  Woman       145 

"  Hey,  my  buck ! "  he  cried  suddenly,  tossing  the  ash 
stick  to  me.  "You  can  tak'  it;  aye,  tak'  it  —  't  will  be 
more  use  to  you  nor  me  —  her '11  need  it  more  nor  my 
pony,  aye,  that  'er  will.  Don't  stand  none  o'  her  tricks, 
pal,  though  her  '11  take  a  lot  o'  taming,  an*  you  ain't  no 
match  for  'er  by  your  looks,  but  lay  into  'er  wi'  yon  stick 
an'  do  your  best  — "  Having  said  which,  he  laughed 
again  and,  turning  his  pony,  trotted  off.  Outraged  by  his 
insolence,  I  caught  up  the  stick  with  some  notion  of  run- 
ning after  him,  but  Diana  checked  me. 

"  Not  him !  "  she  said.  "  He  ain't  —  is  n't  like  Gabbing 
Dick ;  he  's  a  fighting  man  and  dangerous." 

"Who  is  he?"  I  demanded. 

"  A  Romany." 

"And  what  did  the  fellow  say  to  you?  " 

"  Nothing  to  harm." 

"Did  he  suggest  —  the — the  same  as  the  Peddler  and 
that  hateful  old  hag?  " 

"  Lord  —  and  what  if  he  did?  " 

"  Why,  then,"  I  answered,  "  for  your  sake  there  is  but 
one  of  two  courses  that  I  can  honourably  adopt.  I  must 
either  leave  you  at  once  or  marry  you  at  the  —  the  first 
opportunity." 

"  Marry  me !  "  she  breathed.     "  Marry  —  me  ?  " 

"  Exactly ! "  said  I,  folding  my  arms  and  staring  down 
into  the  stream  in  a  very  determined  fashion.  At  this, 
she  sat  so  very  still  and  silent  that  at  last  I  ventured  to 
glance  up,  to  find  her  regarding  me  great-eyed.  Then, 
all  at  once,  to  my  indignant  surprise,  she  began  to  laugh, 
but  ceased  as  suddenly,  and  I  wondered  to  see  her  eyes 
brimming  with  tears. 

"  But  I  —  don't  love  you,  and  you  don't  love  me  —  and 
never  can ! "  said  she  at  last. 

"  No !  "  I  answered.  "  Nevertheless,  my  honour  de- 
mands it ! " 

"What  is  honour?"  she  questioned  wistfully. 

"  It  is  another  name  for  duty !  "  I  answered.  "  And 
my  duty  is  to  guard  you  from  all  evil  or  suspicion  of  evil." 


146  Peregrine's  Progress 


"What  evil,  Peregrine?" 

"  The  evil  of  vile  tongues." 

"  But  they  can't  make  us  evil,  whatever  they  say  of  us." 

"  But  what  of  your  maidenly  reputation?"  I  demanded. 
"That  hateful  peddler-fellow  and  vile  old  hag  will  make 
your  name  a  byword — O,  decidedly  I  must  marry  you!" 

"Because  of  your  duty?" 

"  And  because  it  will  resolve  all  my  other  difficulties  with 
regard  to  your  education;  for  instance,  I  will  send  you 
to  the  best  and  most  select  young  ladies'  academy  — 

"What  sort  of  a  thing  is  that,  Peregrine?  " 

"A  place  where  ladies  are  educated  in  all  the  higher 
branches  and  taught  deportment  and  all  the  refinements 
and  usages  of  polite  society." 

"  O !  "  exclaimed  Diana,  and  sent  up  a  sparkling  shower 
of  water  with  a  flirt  of  her  white  foot. 

"  Furthermore,"  I  continued,  wiping  my  cheek  —  for 
some  of  this  water  had  splashed  me,  "  furthermore,  Diana, 
you  need  never  fear  the  future  any  longer,  because  as  my 
—  my  wife,  you  would  of  course  lack  for  nothing." 

"  Meaning  as  you  'd  find  me  plenty  to  eat  and  drink, 
Peregrine?  " 

"Heavens,  yes,  child!"  I  exclaimed.  "You  would  be 
a  lady  of  some  position  in  society." 

"A  lady  —  O!"  she  exclaimed,  and  flirted  her  foot 
again. 

"  I  beg  you  won't  do  that ! "  said  I,  wiping  my  face. 

"But  I  like  to,  Peregrine." 
.  "Why,  pray?" 

"Because  you  are  such — oh,  such  a  Peregrine!" 

;*  That  sounds  ridiculous,  Diana !  " 

"  But  means  a  lot,  Peregrine.  But  tell  me,  if  you  can 
make  your  wife  a  real  lady,  you  must  be  a  gentleman  and 
rich  —  are  you  ?  " 

"I  shall  have  a  sufficiently  comfortable  fortune  when 
I  come  of  age." 

*You  will  be  rich  and  grand — like  your  aunt?" 

"  I  suppose  so." 


Of  the  Tongue  of  a  Woman    147 

"  Without  working  for  it?  " 

"  Of  course ;  I  shall  inherit  it  from  my  father." 

"Any  one  could  get  rich  that  way,  couldn't  they? 
And  when  will  you  get  your  money,  Peregrine  ?  " 

"  In  two  years'  time.  Meanwhile,  by  writing  to  my; 
uncles,  I  can  procure  all  the  money  I  need." 

"Why  don't  you?" 

"  I  propose  doing  so  at  the  very  earliest  opportunity.'* 
At  this  she  turned  and  looked  at  me  with  her  direct,  un- 
swerving gaze,  so  that  I  grew  suddenly  uncomfortable. 
"  You  don't  doubt  my  word,  do  you,  Diana?  "  I  questioned, 
glancing  down  at  my  grotesque  attire. 

"  No,  Peregrine,  I  don't  think  you  could  deceive  any 
one.  Only  I  was  wondering  what  brings  the  like  o'  you 
padding  the  roads  dressed  like  —  like  you  are." 

Hereupon,  sitting  down  beside  her,  I  told  my  story  at 
large,  much  as  I  have  written  it  here,  to  all  of  which  she 
listened  with  such  deep  interest  and  grave  attention  as 
gratified  me  not  a  little.  When  at  last  I  had  ended  my  nar- 
rative, she  sat,  chin  in  hand,  staring  down  at  the  rippling 
waters  so  long  that  I  must  needs  ask  what  she  was  thinking. 

"  That  't  is  no  wonder  you  are  so  soft ! "  said  she. 

"  Soft  ?  "  I  repeated  indignantly. 

"  Yes,  soft,  Peregrine,  and  so  green  —  so  precious  green ! 
You  've  never  had  a  chance." 

"Of  what?" 

"  Of  living.    And  your  Aunt  Julia  's  a  fool ! " 

"  Diana  —  ! "  I  exclaimed,  inexpressibly  shocked. 

"  Such  a  fool,  Peregrine,  that  I  'm  greatly  minded  to 
let  you  marry  me  just  to  see  my  lady's  face  when  I  take 
ye  back  and  say,  *  Ma'm,  here 's  your  precious  Peregrine 
married  to  a  girl  o'  the  roads,  ma'm,  and  a-going  to  be 
a  man  in  spite  o'  you,  ma'm ! '  Oh,  tush !  And  now  let 's 
go  on  —  unless  you  'm  minded  to  sleep  in  the  wood  yonder 
and  no  supper." 

"  As  you  will! "  said  I  stiffly. 

And  so,  when  she  had  donned  her  stockings  and  shoes, 
we  continued  our  way  together,  though  in  silence  now. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

IN  WHICH  I  LEABNED  THAT  I  AM  LESS  OF  A  COWABD  THAN 
I  HAD  SUPPOSKD 

THERE  is,  I  think,  a  wistful  sadness  in  the  fall  of  vening, 
a  vague  regret  for  the  fading  glories  of  the  day  which, 
passing  out  of  our  lives  for  ever,  leaves  us  so  much  the 
richer  or  poorer,  the  nobler  or  more  unworthy,  according 
to  the  use  we  have  made  of  the  opportunities  it  has  offered 
us  for  the  doing  of  good  or  evil. 

Thus  I  walked  pensive  through  the  solemn  evening  still- 
ness, watching  the  shadows  gathering  and  the  sky  slowly 
deepen  to  a  glimmering  dusk,  wherein  the  first  faint  stars 
peeped. 

Suddenly,  from  the  mysteries  of  sombre  trees  hard  by, 
stole  the  plaintive  notes  of  a  blackbird  singing,  as  it  were, 
in  poignant,  sweet  farewell: 

*This  day,  with  its  joys  and  sorrows,  its  pain  and 
travail,  its  possibilities  for  works  good  or  evil,  is  passed 
away.  O  ye  that  grieve  for  chances  lost  or  wasted,  that 
sorrow  for  wrongs  done  or  good  undone,  be  comforted. 
Sleep  ye  in  the  sure  hope  that  God  of  His  mercy  shall 
renew  your  hope  for  better  things  with  to-morrow's  dawn. 
So  comfort  ye ! ' 

As  I  stood,  the  better  to  hear,  my  mind  busied  with  some 
such  thought  as  this  conjured  up  of  the  bird's  evening 
hymn,  Diana's  hand  met  mine  in  sudden,  warm  clasp. 

"  O  Peregrine,"  she  murmured,  "  so  you  love  the  silent 
places  too  ?  " 

"  Yes ! "  said  I.  "  Yes !  It  is  in  such  places  that  angels 
walk." 

"  Angels,  Peregrine?  " 

"Great  and  noble  thoughts,  Diana.     These  are  truly 


I  Learned  I  am  Less  of  a  Coward  149 

God's  angels,  I  think,  since  they  are  the  inspiration  to  all 
great  and  good  works." 

"  It  is  in  the  silent  places  I  am  happiest,  Peregrine." 
"  Because  you  have  a  soul,  thank  God ! " 
"What  do  you  mean  by  a  'soul,'  Peregrine?" 
"  I  mean  that  part  of  us  which  cannot  perish  because 
it  is  part  of  God  Himself.    I  mean  that  part  of  us  whereby, 
in  spite  of  this  fleshly  body,  we  may  rise  above  fleshly 
desires  and  gain  some  perception  of  the  Infinite  Truth  — 
which  is  God.     Do  you  understand,  Diana?  " 

"  No,  I  'm  afraid  I  don't,"  she  answered  wistfully,  "  but 
you  won't  lose  patience  wi'  me,  Peregrine?  " 

"  Never,  Diana.  How  could  I  when  I  don't  understand 
myself.  Who  does?  The  wisest  philosophers  of  all  ages 
have  been  puzzling  over  their  souls  and  never  understood 
the  wonder  of  it.  Who  shall  describe  the  soul  and  its 
ultimate  end  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  she  diffidently,  "  there  's  Jerry  Jarvis  —  " 
"What,  the  Tinker?"  I  exclaimed. 
"Yes.     He  made  a  verse  about  the  soul  —  I  mean  this 
one — 

' '  And  when  my  time  shall  come  to  die 
I  care  not  where  my  flesh  may  lie 
Because  I  know  my  soul  shall  fly 
Back  to  the  stars ! ' ' 

*'  Ah,  yes,  the  stars ! "  said  I,  lifting  my  gaze  to  the 
spangled  firmament  above  us.  "  This  is  a  great  thought 
—  who  knows  ?  " 

And  presently  as  we  went  on  together,  hand  in  hand, 
came  night  very  still  and  silent  and  full  of  a  splendour 
of  stars  that  made  a  soft  twilight  about  us,  very  wonder- 
ful to  behold. 

"  Now,  why  do  that  ? "  I  demanded  suddenly,  for  she 
had  slipped  her  hand  from  mine. 

"  Because !  "  she  retorted. 

"Because  of  what?" 

"  Just  because !  " 


150  Peregrine's   Progress 

"Does  it  impede  you  to  hold  my  hand?" 

"  Of  course  not." 

"  My  hand  is  neither  unpleasantly,  clammy  nor  particu- 
larly dirty,  is  it?" 

"  No,  Peregrine." 

"Then  why  not  hold  it?" 

"  Because !  " 

"Upon  my  word!"  I  exclaimed,  "you  are  very  pro- 
yoking!" 

"Am  I,  Peregrine?" 

"  Extremely  so !  Why  won't  you  hold  my  hand?  And 
pray  answer  intelligibly." 

"  Because  I  don't  want  to ! " 

"  Oh,  very  well ! "  said  I,  greatly  huffed.  "  Then  you 
shall  decline  the  verb  '  To  be '  instead." 

"  I  do,  Peregrine." 

"Do  what?" 

"  Decline  any  more  of  your  verbs." 

"Ha,  then  you  don't  wish  to  learn — ?" 

"I  do,  Peregrine,  I  do!  But  I'm  sure  I  shall  learn 
quicker  if  you  '11  let  me  try  to  talk  like  you ;  I  've  learned 
a  bit  already  only  you  never  notice  —  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  do  —  God  in  heaven ! "  I  gasped,  my  heart 
leaping  in  sudden  sickening  dread.  "What  is  that?" 
My  flesh  chilled  with  horror  as  from  the  gloomy  depths 
of  the  wood  upon  our  left  rose  a  sound  evil  beyond  de- 
scription, an  awful  scuffling  intermingled  with  gasps  and 
sighs  very  terrible  to  hear. 

Spellbound  by  this  dreadful,  hushed  clamour,  I  stood 
rigidly,  staring  into  those  dense  shadows  whence  it  came; 
then  joyed  to  the  warm,  strong  clasp  of  her  fingers  on 
mine  and,  in  this  awful  moment,  wondered  to  feel  her  hand 
so  steady. 

"  Are  you  afraid,  Peregrine?"  she  whispered. 

"Yes!"  I  mumbled.    "Yes!" 

"But  are  you  brave  enough  to  go  and  see  what  it  is? 
Dare  you  go  —  alone?" 

"No!"   I  gasped.     "No  — I  should  —  die —"     My 


I  Learned  I  am  Less  of  a  Coward  151 

teeth  snapped  shut  upon  the  word  and  I  began  to  creep 
forward,  the  ash  stick  clutched  in  shaking  hand,  my  eyes 
glaring  in  horrified  expectancy.  Foot  by  foot  I  forced 
my  shivering  body  forward  into  the  denser  shadows  of  the 
underbrush,  on  and  on  in  such  agony  of  fear  that  the 
sweat  poured  from  me,  for  now  this  frightful  struggling 
was  louder  and  more  menacing;  therefore,  lest  I  should 
blench  and  turn  back,  I  ran  wildly  forward  until,  all 
at  once,  I  stopped  at  sight  of  a  shapeless  something,  a  dim 
horror  that  started  and  wallowed,  gasping,  upon  the 
ground  before  me;  then,  as  I  stared,  the  thing  bleated 
feebly,  and  I  knew  it  for  a  sheep  and,  coming  nearer,  saw 
the  poor  animal  lay  upon  its  back,  kicking  and  struggling 
vainly  to  regain  its  feet. 

My  revulsion  of  feeling  was  so  great  that  a  faintness 
seized  me  and  I  leaned  half-swooning  against  a  tree.  And 
in  this  moment  Diana's  arm  was  about  me  and  her  voice 
in  my  ear. 

"  Oh,  but  that  was  brave,  Peregrine  —  I  never  thought 
you'd  go!  Now  help  me  to  get  the  poor  thing  to  her 
feet."  So  between  us  we  contrived  to  set  the  sheep  upon 
its  legs  and  watched  it  amble  feebly  away.  Then,  side 
fey  side,  we  came  out  of  the  wood  where  we  might  behold 
the  stars. 

"  Diana,"  said  I,  with  my  gaze  uplifted  to  their  glory, 
"did  you  know  it  was  only  a  sheep?" 

"Of  course!" 

"  And  I  am  a  little  braver  than  you  expected?  " 

"  Yes,  Peregrine." 

"Then  —  suppose  you  take  my  hand  again!" 


CHAPTER  XXII 

DESCRIBING    THE    HOSPITALITY    OF    ONE   JERRY    JARVIS 
A  TINKER 

WE  stood  upon  a  hill  beneath  an  orbed  moon  whose 
splendour  dimmed  the  stars;  below  us  lay  a  mystery  of 
sombre  woods  with  a  prospect  of  hill  and  dale  beyond,  and 
never  a  sound  to  disturb  the  all-pervading  stillness  save 
the  soft,  bubbling  notes  of  a  nightjar  and  the  distant 
murmur  of  the  brook  that  flowed  in  the  valley  at  our  feet, 
here  leaping  in  glory,  there  gliding,  —  a  smooth  and  placid 
mirror  to  Dian's  beauty,  a  brook  that  wound  amid 
light  and  shadow  until  it  lost  itself  in  the  gloom  of  trees 
thick-clustered  about  a  little  hamlet  that  slept  in  the 
shadow  of  hoary  church  tower. 

Thus  as  we  descended  the  hill,  I  walked  reverently,  my 
soul  upraised  in  chaste  and  fervent  ecstasy.  However, 
this  fine,  poetical  rhapsody  was  banished,  suddenly  and 
most  unpleasantly,  by  my  companion  who,  setting  fingers 
to  mouth,  emitted  a  shrill  whistle,  —  three  ear-piercing 
blasts  that  shattered  the  night's  holy  calm  and  startled 
me  to  indignant  protest. 

"Heavens,  Diana!"  I  exclaimed,  "why  do  that?  It 
was  desecration ! " 

"  You  '11  know  if  you  listen,  Peregrine !  "  As  she  spoke 
there  came  an  answering  whistle  from  the  woods  before 
us.  "  It 's  Jerry !  "  she  nodded.  "  It »s  Jerry  Jarvis  — 
hark,  he  be  coming  to  meet  me ! " 

"Then  he  knows  it  is  you?" 

"  Of  course !  He  learned  me  to  whistle  for  him  so  when 
I  was  a  little  child  and  — "  She  turned  suddenly,  and 
with  a  little,  glad  cry  of  "O  Jerry!"  ran  forward  into 
the  shadows  and  was  clasped  and  hugged  in  a  pair  of  dim 
arms. 


Hospitality  of  a  Tinker        153 

"  Why,  Ann  —  why,  Anna,  dear  child  —  have  ye  come 
a-seeking  your  old  Jeremy?  What  is  it  this  time,  dear 
lass ;  tell  your  trouble  to  your  old  pal  —  " 

"  O  Jerry,  I  'm  free,  I  'm  free  of  'em  at  last !  " 

"Free  o'  the  Folk,  lass?  Lord,  here's  j'y!  But  what 
of  old  Azor  —  that  witch  o'  darkness?  " 

"  Her  too,  Jerry." 

"  How,  lass,  how  so  ?  "  Here  Diana  reached  her  hand 
to  me  and  I  stepped  into  the  Tinker's  purview. 

"  He  did  it  for  me,  Jerry." 

"  Lord ! "  exclaimed  the  Tinker,  falling  back  a  step. 
"  Lord  love  me  —  a  boy !  A  lad  at  last !  Well,  well,  't  is 
nat'ral,  I  suppose,  though  what  I  can  see  of  him  bean't 
much  to  look  at,  Ann  —  but  no  more  am  I,  for  that  mat- 
ter! And  he  ain't  exactly  a  Goliath  of  Gath  —  though  no 
more  am  I  again.  But  then  I  've  noticed  that  great  men 
be  generally  of  a  comfortable,  middling  size.  And  if  he  be 
your  chal,  my  dear  —  " 

"Have  you  forgotten  me  so  soon,  Mr.  Jarvis?"  said 
I  at  this  juncture,  whereupon  he  turned  to  peer  into  my 
face,  then  caught  and  wrung  my  hand. 

"  Strike  me  blue ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  It 's  the  bang-up 
young  gent  in  the  jerry  'at  'as  left  a  home  luxoorious  to 
see  the  world  and  1'arn  to  be  a  man ! " 

"  That  very  same !  "  said  I. 

"  Why,  then,  Lord  love  me,  here  's  j'y  again !  "  cried  he, 
grasping  my  hand  with  a  heartiness  there  was  no  mis- 
taking. "  But  how  come  you  hereabouts  and  along  of 
Anna,  too?  And  how  comes  Anna  free  o'  the  Folk  at  last 
and  along  wi'  a  young  gorgio  gent  wi'  nothing  flash  about 
him?  And  what's  come  o'  your  bang-up  duds?  And 
I  'd  like  to  know  —  but  wait  a  bit !  Are  ye  hungry?  " 

"  We  are !  "  answered  Diana. 

"  Good !  "  exclaimed  the  Tinker.  "  Then  come  your 
ways  to  my  fire,  children;  I've  a  couple  o'  rabbits  in  the 
pot  wi'  a  lump  o'  pork  and  an  onion  or  so  for  comp'ny, 
which  is  a  supper  fit  for  any  king." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  Mr.  Jarvis,"  said  I,  a  little  awk- 


154  Peregrine's   Progress 

wardly,  "but  I  ought  to  tell  you  that  I  am  as  poor  as 
I  look  —  I  have  n't  one  penny  - 

"Well,  that  don't  make  me  speechless  wi'  surprise, 
young  sir;  money  has  a  habit  o'  going,  'specially  when 
you're  youngs  but  a  full  stomach's  better  than  a  full 
purse,  I  think." 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  having  no  money,  how  may  I  repay 
your  hospitality?" 

"  By  eating  hearty !  And  as  for  money,  Lord  love  my 
eyes  and  limbs — who  wants  your  money?" 

"There,  there,  Jerry  —  don't  get  peppery!"  said 
Diana  soothingly.  "  Peregrine  don't  understand  the  likes 
of  us,  yet." 

"  Why  no,  Ann,  I  was  forgetting  the  poor,  misfort'nate 
young  gent  has  never  known  the  blessings  of  hardship, 
never  suffered,  never  lacked  for  anything  all  his  days  and 
consequently  knows  nothing  o*  true  hospitality  or  the 
brotherhood  o*  the  roadside  —  how  should  he?  " 

"Then  you  shall  teach  me,  if  you  will,  Mr.  Jarvis," 
said  I,  humbly. 

"  Then,  sir  —  come  and  eat,"  he  answered,  "  and  don't 
go  '  mistering '  me ;  I  *m  Tinker  Jarvis  and  Jerry  to  my 
friends." 

"Then  please  don't  call  me  'sir*  —  my  name  is  Pere- 


grine." 


'  Then  it  *s  a  bargain,  friend  Peregrine ! "  said  he,  and 
led  us  into  the  deeps  of  the  wood  where  was  a  small  clear- 
ing well  shut  in  by  bush  and  thicket;  and  here  burned  a 
fire  that  crackled  cheerily  beneath  a  bubbling  pot,  a  fire 
whose  dancing  light  showed  me  the  three-legged  stool,  the 
dingy  tent  and  Diogenes  the  pony  tethered  near  by,  who, 
having  lifted  shaggy  head  to  snuff  towards  us  enquiringly, 
fell  to  cropping  the  grass  again.  And  beholding  all  this, 
the  Tinker's  shrewd  and  kindly  face  and  Diana  smiling  at 
me  across  the  fire,  I  felt  a  sense  of  rest  and  companion- 
ship vastly  comforting. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

DISCUSSES  THE  VIRTUES  OF  THE  ONION 

"  THERE  's  nothing  like  an  onion ! "  said  the  Tinker,  lift- 
ing pot-lid  to  lunge  at  the  bubbling  contents  with  an  in- 
quisitorial fork.  "  An  onion  is  the  king  o'  vegetables ! 
Eat  it  raw  and  it's  good;  b'ile  it  and  it's  better;  fry  it 
and  it  can't  be  ekalled;  stoo  it  wi'  a  rabbit  and  you've 
got  a  stoo  as  savoury  an'  full  o'  flavour  —  smells  all  right, 
don't  it,  Ann  ?"  he  enquired  suddenly  and  a  little  anxiously., 
for  Diana  had  possessed  herself  of  the  fork  and  was  in- 
vestigating the  pot's  bubbling  contents  with  that  deft 
and  capable  assurance  that  is  wholly  feminine.  "  Smells 
savoury,  don't  it,  Ann?"  he  questioned  again,  noting  her 
puckered  brow. 

"Very!  "said  I. 

"Did  ye  put  in  any  salt  or  pepper,  Jerry?"  she  de- 
manded. 

"  Drat  my  whiskers,  never  a  shake  nor  pinch ! "  he  ex- 
claimed, whereupon  Diana  sighed,  shook  her  head  in 
silent  reprobation  and  vanished  into  the  dingy  tent  as 
one  acquainted  with  its  mysteries,  leaving  the  Tinker  gaz- 
ing at  the  pot  quite  crestfallen. 

"  A  man  can't  always  be  for  ever  a-remembering  every- 
thing, Ann!"  said  he,  as  she  reappeared.  "An'  besides, 
now  I  come  to  think  on  it,  I  are  n't  so  partial  to  pepper 
an'  salt  —  " 

"  A  stew  should  never  boil,  Jerry ! "  she  admonished. 

"  Why,  that 's  a  matter  o'  taste,"  he  retorted.  "  I  al- 
ways b'ile  my  stoos  and  uncommon  tasty  I  find  'em  — " 

"  And  a  little  thickening  will  improve  it  more,"  she  con- 
tinued serenely.  "  And  if  you  had  cut  the  rabbits  a  little 
smaller,  it  would  ha'  been  better,  Jerry.  Still,  I  daresay 


156  Peregrine's   Progress 

I  can  make  it  eatable,  so  go  an'  talk  to  Peregrine  and 
leave  me  to  do  it." 

Obediently  the  Tinker  came  and  seated  himself  beside 
me. 

"Friend  Peregrine,"  said  he,  jerking  his  thumb  to  the 
busy  figure  at  the  fire,  "I  stoccd  rabbits  afore  she  was 
born  —  ah,  hundreds  on  'em !  " 

"  And  boiled  'em  hard  as  stones ! "  she  added. 

"I've  throve  on  b'iled  rabbits,  Peregrine  friend,  rab- 
bits and  other  things  cooked  by  these  two  hands,  lived  and 
throve  on  'em  these  fifty-odd  years  —  and  you  see  me  to- 
day a  man  hale  and  hearty  —  " 

"  Which  is  a  wonder ! "  interpolated  Diana  without 
glancing  up  from  her  labour. 

"  Pray,"  said  I,  seeing  him  at  loss  for  an  answer,  "  what 
did  you  mean  by  the  *  Brotherhood  of  the  Roadside'?" 

"  I  meant  the  Comradeship  o'  Poverty,  friend,  the  Fel- 
lowship o'  the  Friendless,  the  Hospitality  o'  the  Homeless. 
The  poor  folk  on  the  padding-lay,  such  as  live  on  the  road 
and  by  the  road,  help  one  another  when  needful — which 
is  frequent.  Those  as  have  little  give  freely  to  them  as 
have  none  —  I  to-day,  you  to-morrow.  The  world  would  ; 
be  a  poor  place  else,  'specially  for  the  likes  o'  we." 

"Do  you  mean  that  all  who  tramp  the  road  know  each 
other?" 

"  Well,  'ardly  that,  brother.  To  be  sure,  I  know  most 
o'  the  regular  padding-coves,  but  you  don't  have  to  know 
a  man  to  help  him." 

"Are  you  acquainted  with  a  peddler  called  Gabbing 
Dick?" 

"  Aye,  poor  soul.  Dick's  father  was  hung  for  a  crime 
he  didn't  commit,  just  afore  Dick  was  born,  which  drove 
his  poor  mother  mad,  which  is  apt  to  make  a  child  grow 
up  a  little  queer,  d'  ye  see?  " 

"  And  old  Moll  ?  "  said  I,  with  growing  diffidence. 

"Aye,  a  fine  figure  of  a  woman  she  was  once,  I  mind. 
But  her  man  was  pressed  aboard  ship  and  killed,  and  she 
starved  along  of  her  babby,  though  she  did  all  she  could 


Virtues  of  the  Onion  157 

to  live  for  the  child's  sake  and  when  it  died,  she  —  well, 
look  at  her  now,  poor  soul ! " 

"  The  world  would  seem  a  very  hard  and  cruel  place ! " 
I  exclaimed. 

"Sometimes,  brother  —  'specially  for  the  poor  and 
friendless.  But  if  there 's  shadow  there 's  sun,  and  if 
there  's  darkness  there  's  always  the  dawn.  But  what  o' 
yourself,  friend;  you  've  been  fighting  I  think,  judging  by 
your  looks?  " 

"Yes,  and  —  I  ran  away!"     I  confessed  miserably. 

"  Humph !  "  said  the  Tinker.  "  That  don't  sound  very 
hee-roic ! " 

"  But  he  came  back,  Jerry !  "  said  Diana  in  her  gentlest 
voice. 

"  Ha ! "  exclaimed  the  Tinker,  looking  from  her  to  me 
and  back  again,  keenly.  "  Then  he  is  hee-roic !  " 

"  No !  "  said  I,  "  No,  I  'm  not  —  and  never  can  be ! " 

"  Oh,"  said  the  Tinker.     "  And  why?  " 

"  Because  I  'm  not  brave  enough,  strong  enough,  big 
enough  —  " 

"  Lord,  young  friend,  don't  be  so  down-hearted  and  con- 
founded humble ;  it  are  n't  nat'ral  in  one  so  young !  What 
do  you  think,  Ann  ?  " 

"  That  he  's  hungry,"  she  answered. 

"  Aye,  to  be  sure ! "  chuckled  the  Tinker.  "  And  I 
reckon  no  hero  can  feel  properly  hee-roic  when  his  in- 
nards be  cold  and  empty  —  " 

"  But  I  'm  not  hungry,"  I  sighed,  "  at  least  —  not  very. 
But  the  longer  I  live  the  more  I  know  myself  for  a  hope- 
less incompetent  —  lately,  at  least  —  a  poor,  helpless  do- 
nothing — "  . 

"  Lord  love  ye,  lad,"  quoth  the  Tinker,  laying  his  hand 
upon  my  bowed  shoulder,  "  if  you  've  learned  so  much,  take 
comfort,  for  to  know  ourselves  and  our  failings  is  surely 
the  beginning  o*  wisdom.  But  if  you  can't  be  a  conquer- 
ing hero  all  at  once,  don't  grieve  —  you  ain't  cut  out  for 
a  fighter  —  " 

"  He  beat  Gabbing  Dick,  anyway,"   said  Diana  sud- 


158  Peregrine's   Progress 

dcnly,  whereat  I  lifted  drooping  head  and  looked  towards 
her  gratefully,  only  to  see  her  vanishing  into  the  dingy 
little  tent  again. 

"Well,  but  — "  said  the  Tinker  as  she  reappeared, 
"  Gabbing  Dick  ain't  a  fighter  like  Jem  Belcher  or  Gen- 
tleman Jack  Barty  or  Jessamy  Todd.  Dick's  a  poorish 
creetur'  —  " 

"  He 's  twice  as  big  and  heavy  as  Peregrine ! "  she 
retorted. 

"  True !  "  said  he.  "  And  yet  friend  Peregrine  ain't 
exactly  —  " 

"  Supper 's  ready !  "  she  cried. 

"  Good ! "  exclaimed  the  Tinker,  rising,  but  his  sharp 
eyes  seemed  keener  than  ever  as  he  glanced  from  Diana's 
lovely,  flushed  face  to  me  and  back  again.  Then  down 
we  sat  to  supper  as  savoury  as  mortal  palate  could  de- 
sire; the  Tinker,  having  tasted,  sighed  and  winked  his 
approbation  at  me,  forgetful  of  Diana's  bright  and  watch- 
ful eyes. 

"  Well,  Jerry,"  she  demanded,  "  how  is  it  ?  " 

"  'T  will  do,  lass,  't  will  do,"  he  answered ;  "  though 
you  've  come  it  a  leetle  too  strong  o*  the  pepper  and  salt, 
to  my  thinking,  still  —  it  '11  do.  And  now,  friend  Pere- 
grine, I  'm  consarned  to  know  what 's  become  of  all  your 
money  —  " 

"  He  buys  me  with  it,"  answered  Diana. 

"Eh  —  bought  you?" 

"For  fourteen  guineas,  a  florin,  one  groat  and  three 
pennies,  Jerry ! " 

The  Tinker  gulped  and  stared. 

"  Lord  love  you,  gal  —  what  d'  ye  mean  ?  "  he  questioned. 
tvTwas  all  old  Azor's  doing,  Jerry.  She  gives  me  to 
her  grandson  Joseph  for  his  mort,  but  I  gives  Joseph  a 
touch  of  my  little  churi  and  runs  away  and  happens  on 
Peregrine.  But  she  follows  me  with  Jochabed  and  Ben- 
nigo,  that  I  hates  more  than  Joseph,  and  she  was  for 
going  to  force  me  to  take  him  could  give  most  money, 
and  Peregrine  has  most,  so  she  weds  me  to  Peregrine." 


Virtues  of  the  Onion 

"Wed  you?"  exclaimed  the  Tinker,  blinking. 

"  Aye,  according  to  the  ways  o'  the  Folk  —  she  weds 
us  and  leaves  us.  Then  while  I  was  considering  about 
running  off  from  Peregrine  and  where  I  should  go,  Pere- 
grine goes  for  to  run  off  from  me,  so  then  I  followed  him, 
of  course  —  and  here  we  are ! " 

"  Lord !  "  exclaimed  the  Tinker.  "  Lord  love  my  eyes 
an'  limbs  —  here 's  a  pretty  kettle  o'  fish !  " 

"  It  is !  "  nodded  Diana.  "  For  now  Peregrine  wants 
to  marry  me  according  to  the  ways  o*  the  Church !  " 

"  Hum ! "  said  the  Tinker,  staring  very  hard  at  a  piece 
of  pork  impaled  upon  his  knife-point.  "  Ha  —  marriage, 
hey,  friend  Peregrine?  Marriage  is  an  oncommon  serious 
business  and  you  are  a  —  leetle  young  for  it,  ain't  you?  " 

"  I  *m  nineteen  turned ! "  said  I. 

"  And  I  'm  fifty  and  more,  young  friend,  and  never 
found  courage  for  it  yet  —  and  never  shall  now ! "  Here 
the  morsel  of  pork  vanished  and  he  masticated  thought- 
fully. "And  I  suppose,"  said  he,  his  keen  eyes  flashing 
from  me  to  Diana,  "  I  suppose  you  '11  be  tellin*  me  as 
you  're  in  love  and  a-dyin'  for  each  other  —  " 

"  No ! "  said  Diana  sharply. 

"  Of  course  not !  "  said  I,  imitating  her  tone. 

"  And  never  could  be ! "  she  added,  frowning  at  the 
fire. 

"  Utterly  impossible ! "  I  added,  frowning  at  her. 

"Strike  me  pink!"  ejaculated  the  Tinker,  scratching 
chin  with  knife-handle  and  staring  at  us  in  ever-deepening 
perplexity.  "  Then  why  want  to  marry  ?  " 

"I  don't!"  said  Diana,  with  the  same  unnecessary 
vehemence. 

"Nor  I  either!"  I  added.  "But  my  honour  and  — 
circumstances  would  seem  to  demand  it." 

"  What  circumstances,  young  sir? "  demanded  the 
Tinker,  his  features  distorted  by  a  sudden  fierce  scowl. 
"  Ha,  d'  ye  mean  as  you  've  taken  advantage  of  —  " 

"  Don't  be  foolish,  Jerry !  "  said  Diana  serenely.  "  Does 
he  look  as  if  he  would  take  advantage  of  any  one?  D'  ye 


160  Peregrine's  Progress 

think  he  could  take  advantage  o'  me?  Can't  you  see  he 
ain't  —  is  not  th*  kind  I  keeps  my  little  knife  for?  Don't 
be  foolish,  Jerry ;  he  *s  never  even  tried  to  kiss  me  —  nor 
wanted  to  —  " 

"How  do  you  know  that?"  I  demanded  impulsively. 
Now  at  this  she  turned  and  looked  at  me,  red  lips  parted  in 
speechless  surprise. 

"How  do  you  know?"  I  repeated.  "How  can  you  be 
so  sure?  " 

"  Be-cause ! "  she  murmured  and  then,  all  at  once, 
from  throat  to  brow  crept  a  wave  of  hot  colour,  her  long 
lashes  drooped  and  she  turned  away  with  a  strange,  new 
shyness ;  and  in  this  moment  I  saw  she  was  altogether  more 
lovely  than  I  had  ever  imagined  her. 

"  Why,  Diana ! "  I  said.  "  Child,  you  need  never  trouble 
to  take  your  knife  to  me;  the  respect  I  have  for  your 
goodness  is  enough  —  " 

"  Ah,  Peregrine,"  she  whispered  fiercely,  without  turn-] 
ing  her  head,  "  I  am  only  good  because  I  have  seen  enough] 
of  evil  to  hate  it ! " 

"And  it  is  just  because  I  would  shield  you  from  all  and; 
every  evil  that  I  would  marry  you,  Diana." 

"  Ha ! "  exclaimed  the  Tinker,  so  suddenly  that  I  started,1 
having  clean  forgotten  his  existence.  "  Ha ! "  said  he. ! 
"You're  quite  sure  as  you  don't  love  each  other,  then?" 

"Quite!"  said  Diana. 

"Absolutely!  "said  I. 

"Oh!"  said  the  Tinker,  wiping  his  knife  upon  his 
breeches.  "Well,  considering  you  was  both  so  hungry, 
you  ain't  neither  of  you  eaten  dooly  of  this  stoo  as  was 
fit  for  any  king.  And  talkin*  o*  wed-lock,  if  you  air.'t 
in  love  with  each  other  —  yet,  I  should  wait  until  you 
are,  which,"  said  he,  glancing  up  at  the  leaves  above  his 
head,  "which  judging  by  the  look  o'  things,  I  should  say 
might  'appen  at  any  moment  'twixt  now  and  Christmas. 
Meantime,  what  are  ye  going  to  do?" 

At  this,  being  somewhat  at  a  loss,  I  looked  at  Diana 
!  and  she  at  the  fire  again. 


Virtues  of  the  Onion  161 

"  Now  if,"  pursued  the  Tinker,  "  if  you  'm  minded,  both 
on  ye,  for  to  j'ine  comp'ny  and  travel  the  country  awhile 
along  o'  Diogenes  an'  me  —  say  the  word,  an'  I  'U  be  the 
j'y-fullest  tinker  'twixt  here  an'  John  o'  Groat's!"  As 
he  ended,  Diana  reached  out  suddenly  and,  catching  his 
ihand,  fondled  those  work-roughened  fingers  against  her 
soft  cheek. 

"  O  Jerry,"  she  sighed,  "  you  were  always  s'  good  and 
wise ! " 

**  Then,  dear  lass,  you  '11  come?  " 

"  Of  course  I  will.    I  '11  weave  basket*  —  " 

"And  I'll  mend  kettles,  if  you'll  teach  me,  friend 
Jerry,"  said  I,  grasping  his  other  hand. 

"  Why,  children ! "  said  he,  looking  upon  us  gentle-eyed, 
"Lord  love  ye  now  —  you  make  me  as  proud  as  if  I  was 
a  dook  'stead  of  only  a  travelling  tinker ! " 

"  It  were  best  of  all  to  be  a  poet,  I  think ! "  said  I. 
"Have  you  written  any  more  verses  lately?" 

"  Well  —  I  have !  "  he  confessed,  with  a  look  that  was 
almost  guilty.  "  I  'm  always  at  it  when  there's  time  — 
I  must.  There  was  an  idee  as  came  to  me  this  very  evening 
an'  I  had  to  write  it  down.  'T  was  that  as  made  me  forget 
the  salt  an*  pepper — " 

"  Is  it  about  the  Silent  Places,  Jerry  ?  "  questioned  Diana 
eagerly.  "  Or  a  lonely  star,  or  the  sound  of  a  brook  at 
night—?" 

"  It 's  got  a  bit  of  all  on  *em,"  said  the  Tinker. 

"  I  should  very  much  like  to  hear  it,"  said  I. 

" Honest  an'  true?"  he  enquired  a  little  diffidently. 

"  Honest  and  true ! "  I  answered,  as  I  had  done  upon  a 
former  occasion. 

"  Then  so  ye  shall,  though  it  ain't  finished,  or  rather  it 
ain't  begun,  as  ye  might  say,  for  I  can't  find  a  good  open- 
ing verse.  I  want  to  say  that  if  a  man  don't  happen  to  be 
blest  wi'  riches  there 's  better  things  for  him  if  he  's  only 
got  eyes  to  see  'em."  Saying  which  (and  after  no  little 
rummaging)  the  Tinker  drew  a  crumpled  paper  from 
capacious  pocket  and,  bending  to  the  fire,  read  as  follows : 


1 62  Peregrine's   Progress 

" '  Instead  of  riches  give  to  me 
Eyes,  the  great,  good  things  to  see 
The  golden  earth,  the  jewelled  sky 
The  best  that  in  all  hearts  doth  lie. 

Give  me  this :  when  day  's  begum 
A  woodland  glade,  a  ray  of  sun 
Falling  where  the  dewdrops  lie 
Give  me  this,  and  rich  am  I. 

Give  me  this:  the  song  of  bird 
In  lonely  wood  at  sunset  heard 
Piping  of  his  evening  hymn 
'Mid  a  leafy  twilight  dim. 

Give  me  this:  a  stream  that  wendetfc, 
Where  the  sighing  willow  bendeth, 
Singing  through  the  woodland  ways 
Never-ending  songs  of  praise."* 

Give  me  these,  with  eyes  to  see 
"  And  richer  than  a  king  I  '11  be.'  " 

"D'ye  like  it,  Peregrine?"  he  enquired,  anxious  and 
diffident. 

"  So  much  that  I  wish  I  had  written  it." 

"  Jerry  writes  verses  like  birds  sing  and  the  wind  blows, 
just  because  he  must,"  said  Diana  gravely.  "All  that  is 
best  happens  so,  I  think.  Are  you  for  Tonbridge  to- 
morrow, Jerry?" 

"  Aye,  I  am,  lass,  'cording  to  custom.  Maybe  I  '11  pick 
up  plenty  to  do  at  the  fair." 

"And  maybe  you'll  find  your  friend,  Peregrine,"  said 
she,  rising. 

"What  friend?" 

"  Him  you  was  to  meet,  of  course." 

"  Why,  to  be  sure — Anthony !  I'd  clean  forgotten  him." 
*  That 's  strange,"  said  she,  **  seeing  you  were  so  anxious 
to  find  him." 

"  It  is,"  said  I,  "  I  wonder  what  should  have  put  it  out 
of  my  head?" 


Virtues  of  the  Onion  163 

"Ah  — I  wonder!"  said  the  Tinker.  "  What,  goin'  to 
bed,  lass?  Tent  soot  ye?" 

"  Yes  —  I  laid  your  blankets  under  the  tree  yonder  — 
Good  night ! "  And  with  a  wave  of  the  hand  she  was  gone. 

Then,  having  made  up  the  fire,  we  presently  rolled  our- 
selves in  our  blankets  and  lay  down  where  we  might  behold 
the  stars.  And  after  some  while  the  Tinker  spoke  drowsily : 

"I'm  glad  —  very  glad,  friend  Peregrine,  as  I've  met 
you  again,  not  only  because  you  like  my  verses  but  be- 
cause I  like  your  ways.  But  I  'm  sorry  —  aye,  very  sorry, 
as  you  should  ha'  fallen  in  wi'  Diana  —  " 

"And  why,  pray?"  I  demanded,  a  little  sharply. 

"Because  if  you  should  happen  to  fall  in  love  wi*  her 
and  really  want  to  marry  her,  which  I  don't  suppose  — 
and  she  was  foolish  enough  to  let  you  —  which  I'm  pretty 
sure  she  wouldn't,  being  of  a  proud  temper  and  mighty 
independent  —  'twould  be  a  very  bad  thing  for  you  and 
a  terrible  shock  to  that  fine  aunt  and  those  rich  uncles  o* 
yours  as  you  told  me  of  —  " 

"And  why  should  it  be?  " 

"  Because  Anna  ain't  of  your  world  and  not  being  born 
wi'  drawing-room  manners  she  'd  shock  you  twenty  times 
a  day,  throw  your  fine  aunt  into  a  fit  and  give  your  uncles 
paralytic  strokes  —  Anna 's  all  right  in  her  way  but  —  " 

"  She 's  a  very  beautiful  girl ! "  said  I  hotly.  "  And 
good  as  she 's  beautiful !  " 

"  She  is !  "  said  the  Tinker  heartily.  "  Sweet  an*  good 
still,  in  spite  of  everything,  an'  I  know  —  I've  watched 
her  grow  up  —  " 

"And  taken  care  of  her,"  I  added,  "like  the  good 
friend  you  are." 

"  I  've  done  what  I  could,  when  I  could,  but  she 's  mostly 
had  to  take  care  of  herself  and  done  it  well,  too  —  for 
she  's  as  brave  as  —  " 

"  As  Diana  —  as  beautiful  and  as  chaste ! "  said  I. 

"Quite  sure  as  you  ain't  fallen  in  love — or  falling, 
friend  Peregrine  ?  " 

"  Of  course  —  quite." 


1 64  Peregrine's   Progress 

"To  —  be — sure!"  murmured  the  Tinker  drowsily. 
"  But  though  your  pockets  be  empty,  you  ain't  in  any 
violent  hurry  to  get  back  to  your  luxoorious  home,  are 
ye?" 

"No  .'"said  I. 

"By  reason  of  Anna?" 

"By  reason  that,  like  her,  I  have  learned  to  love  the 
Silent  Places." 

"  Ah,  yes,  lad,  I  know  —  for  I  love  *em  too.  But  you  're 
young  and  in  the  Silent  Places  one  may  meet  wi'  demons 
en*  devils." 

"  Maybe ! "  I  answered. 

"  Or  walk  with  God ! "  said  the  Tinker. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

HOW  I  MET  ONE  JESSAMY  TODD,  A  SNATCHER  OF  SOULS 

DIOGENES  the  sturdy  pony  trotted  at  such  good  pace  that 
where  the  ways  were  rough  the  Tinker's  light  cart  creaked 
and  lurched  until  the  tins  wherewith  it  was  festooned 
rattled  and  clinked  and  I,  perched  precariously  on  the 
tailboard,  legs  a-swing,  was  lain  to  hold  on  lest  I  be  pre- 
cipitated into  the  ditch,  yet  felt  myself  ridiculously  happy 
notwithstanding. 

Thus  we  bumped  and  jingled  through  shady  lanes  and 
pleasant  byways,  I  for  one,  seldom  speaking,  content  to 
watch  tree  and  hedge  flit  by  and  the  ever-changing  pros- 
pect beyond,  though  often  turning  to  glimpse  Diana's 
shapely  back  where  she  sat  on  the  driving  seat  beside  the 
Tinker;  and  at  such  times  often  it  would  happen  she 
would  glance  round  also,  and  thus  our  glances  would  meet 
and  as  we  gazed,  slowly  but  surely  the  colour  would 
deepen  in  her  cheek,  her  long  lashes  would  flicker  and 
droop,  and  she  would  turn  away  and  I  full  of  wonder  and 
an  infinite  j  oy,  marvelling  that  I  could  ever  have  thought 
such  eyes  hard,  bold  and  unfeminine.  Thus,  albeit  perched 
so  precariously  on  the  swaying  tailboard  I  was  none  the 
less  marvellously  content. 

O  Diogenes  of  the  plodding  hoofs !  O  creaking  wheels, 
O  tinkling  pots  and  pans,  had  I  but  possessed  the  wisdom 
to  understand  your  oft-repeated  message,  how  much  of 
doubt,  of  grief  and  pain  I  might  have  spared  myself. 

Suddenly  Diana  hailed  and  waved  her  hand,  the  Tinker 
checked  Diogenes  in  full  career,  and  with  a  j  ingling  clank 
the  cart  pulled  up  as  a  man  sprang  lightly  forth  of  the 
dry  ditch  wherein  he  had  been  sitting,  a  man  of  no  great 
stature  but  clean-limbed  and  shapely,  despite  rough  and 


1 66  Peregrine's   Progress 

dusty  clothes, —  a  keen-eyed,  short-nosed,  square-jawed 
fellow  whose  mouth  had  a  humorous  twist. 

"  Why,  Jessamy,"  said  Diana,  leaning  down  to  give  him 
her  hand,  "  't  is  good  t'  see  you !  " 

"  And  so  it  is,  lad !  "  nodded  the  Tinker.  "  How  goeth 
the  good  work?  " 

"Fairish,  Jeremy,  fairish!"  answered  Jessamy,  in  a 
sweet  voice  peculiarly  rich  and  mellow.  "  Old  Nick 's  a 
toughish  customer  d'  ye  see,  and  a  glutton  for  punishment ; 
wind  him,  cross-buttock  him  or  floor  him  wi'  a  leveller 
amidships,  but  he  '11  come  up  smiling  next  round,  ready 
and  willin*  for  more,  an'  fight  back  at  you  'ard  as  ever, 
alas!" 

Here  I  got  down  from  the  cart  that  I  might  better  be- 
hold the  speaker,  who  now  turned  to  glance  at  me  with  a 
pair  of  the  kindliest  blue  eyes  I  had  ever  seen. 

"  Jessamy,"  said  Diana,  "  this  is  my  —  my  friend  Pere- 
grine as  do  want  you  to  teach  him  the  game." 

"The  game,"  repeated  Jessamy,  shaking  his  head  a 
little  ruefully,  "  the  game 's  all  vanity  and  vexation  o* 
spirit !  Besides,  your  young  friend  don't  look  cut  out  for 
the  ring  —  " 

"  Lord,  Jess,  he  don't  want  to  be  a  fighter !  Peregrine 
only  wants  to  know  how  — " 

"  Why,  that 's  different,"  sighed  the  ex-pugilistic 
champion,  "  though  I  ain't  got  the  heart  nor  yet  the  time 
to  teach  any  one  — " 

"  But  I  want  you  to,  Jessamy,"  said  Diana  imperiously. 

"  Why,  that  Js  different  again,  Anna,  and  so  I  don't  mind 
showing  him  a  thing  or  two  if  time  and  opportoonity 
offer." 

"Are  ye  for  Tonbridge  Fair,  Jessamy?"  enquired  the 
Tinker. 

"  I  am  so,  Jerry.  I  'm  a-marching,  comrade,  wi'  royals 
and  studden-sails  set,  messmate,  and  all  for  the  glory  o' 
the  Lord,  brother." 

"  Then  if  you  'm  be  minded  for  a  lift,  Jessamy,  there  be 
room  for  ye  alongside  Peregrine!"  Up  we  mounted 


How  I  Met  Jessamy  Todd      167 

forthwith,  the  Tinker  gave  Diogenes  his  head,  and  we 
bumped  and  jingled  on  our  way. 

"Pray,  Mr.  Todd,"  I  gasped,  as  we  clutched  and 
swayed  together,  "may  I  enquire  if  you  have  been  a 
soldier  or  a  sailor?  " 

"  Both,  brother,"  he  answered,  "  I  was  a  powder-boy 
aboard  the  old  Butty-Sawyer  —  a  powder-monkey  and  sat 
on  my  tub?" 

"But  why  on  a  tub?" 

"  In  case  o'  sparks  from  the  guns  —  broadside  agin*  the 
wind  —  " 

"  What  —  have  you  been  in  action?" 

"  For  sure,  brother  —  " 

"  Ah ! "  I  exclaimed  eagerly.    "  Tell  me  about  it." 

"I  can't,  brother  —  all  as  I  remember  is  sparks  and 
flame  —  the  roar  of  the  guns  —  screams  and  cries  —  blood 
and  —  things  as  no  eyes  should  see  and  bad  to  think  on  — 
and  me  squatting  on  my  tub  amidst  it  all  —  wanting  my 
mother.  Later  on  I  turned  soldier  and  didn't  find  that 
life  a  bed  o'  roses  either ;  to-day  I  'm  a  soldier  o'  the  Lord 
ready  to  fight,  sing  and  preach  to  His  glory,  and  ever 
ready  to  cheat  Old  Nick  o'  what  don't  belong  to  him  —  " 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"  Souls,  brother.  I  plucks  brands  from  the  burning 
with  j'y  and  gather  sheaves  with  gratitood.  You  've  'card 
o'  body-snatchers,  I  suppose?  " 

"  I  have." 

"  Well,  I  'm  a  soul-snatcher.  I  snatches  *em  to  the 
Lord  whensoever  and  wheresoever  I  can,  brother." 

"  But  surely,"  I  demurred,  "  the  soul,  which  is  an  ab- 
straction, a  part  of  the  Infinite  and  thus  of  God  Himself, 
is  therefore  imperishable.  Socrates  taught  this,  Panthe- 
ism is  based  on  this,  the  arguments  of  the  Peripatetic 
Philosophers  all  trend  to  this  belief,  and  Christ  preached 
the  Soul 's  immortality  and  life  after  death.  Thus,  if  the 
Soul  is  immortal  and  cannot  perish,  how  may  it  be  saved?  " 

"  By  the  Blood  o'  the  Lamb,  brother ;  otherwise  ye  shall 
be  cast  into  outer  darkness  to  weep  and  gnash." 


1 6  8  Peregrine's   Progress 

"But  why?" 

"For  sins  committed  in  the  flesh  and  unrepented." 

"  Supposing  a  man  sins  daily  for  threescore  years  and 
ten  and  dies  unrepentant,  must  he  go  down  to  hell  and  be 
tormented  for  ever  and  ever  for  so  short  a  time  of  sinning?" 

"  He  must,  brother,  alas  !  " 

"  Horrible !  "  I  cried.     "  Horrible,  and  most  unjust." 

"  Why,  it  do  seem  a  bit  'ard  to  the  likes  o'  we,  brother, 
but  then  we  only  see  as  through  a  glass  darkly.  God  is 
a  just  God,  a  jealous  God  and  a  God  o'  Vengeance ;  't  is  in 
the  Book—" 

"  Then  this  is  not  Christ's  Heavenly  Father,  but  Jehovah, 
the  blood-spattered  deity  of  the  Jews,  a  God  of  battles, 
of  sacrifices  and  death,  a  God  pitiless  and  without  mercy. 
But  man's  soul,  being  conceived  of  the  Infinite  Mind,  may 
never  utterly  perish  even  though  corrupt  with  sin  or  de- 
based by  ignorance,  for  even  then  that  divine  Spark  which 
is  the  very  life  of  the  soul  shall  sooner  or  later  grow  to 
a  flame,  burning  up  the  evil,  lighting  the  gloom  of  igno- 
rance until  in  course  of  time,  years,  ages,  or  aeons,  the  soul 
purified  and  perfected  shall  win  back  to  the  God  whence 
it  came!" 

For  a  full  minute  after  I  had  ended  Jessamy  Todd  was 
silent,  staring  from  me  to  the  cloudless  sky  and  back  again 
with  a  look  of  growing  perplexity;  at  length  he  spoke: 

"  You  've  seen  better  days,  brother,  I  'm  thinking." 

*  No,  indeed,"  I  answered,  "  never  so  good  as  these." 

"  I  'm  likewise  thinkin*  as  your  speech  and  talk  don't 
rightly  match  your  rig-out,  brother." 

"Which,  on  the  whole,  is  just  as  well,"  I  answered. 

"  And  you  've  read  and  learned  a  lot  from  books, 
brother." 

"But  you  have  read  a  better  book,  friend  Todd,  and 
much  more  of  it." 

'Ah,  you  mean  this,  brother?"  said  he,  taking  out  a 
small,  well-worn  Bible. 

"I  mean  the  Boole  of  Life,"  I  answered;  "you  have 
4  lived  while  I  have  only  dreamed,  so  far." 


How  I  Met  Jessamy  Todd       169 

"  Why,  to  be  sure,  I  've  seen  a  good  deal  o*  life  and 
something  o'  death,  one  way  or  another.  I  've  known 
friendship  and  loneliness,  plenty  and  poverty,  been  hooted 
and  cheered  and  had  a  prince  shake  my  fist  — " 

"What  for?" 

"  'T  was  arter  I  'd  beat  the  Chelsea  Snob,  him  as  licked 
the  Bristol  Slasher;  they  thought  the  Snob  would  eat  me 
but  —  ah,  well  these  were  days  o'  vanity,  brother,  and  no 
grace  about  me  —  no,  not  a  hap'orth." 

"  Please  tell  me  of  it." 

"  Well,  I  was  fighting  for  Sir  Jervas  then,  him  they  call 
'  The  Firebrand '  —  " 

"  Do  you  mean  Sir  Jervas  Vereker?  " 

"Aye,  I  do  —  one  o'  the  bang-up  nobs,  a  tip  o*  the 
tippies,  but  the  best  sportsman  and  truest  friend  ever  man 
fought  for  —  " 

"Good!"  quoth  I. 

"D*  ye  happen  to  know  him,  brother?"  enquired 
Jessamy,  with  another  look  of  mild  surprise. 

"  I  begin  to  think  I  do  not,"  I  answered.  "  Pray,  why 
is  he  called  «  The  Firebrand '  ?  " 

"  Because  he  's  allus  so  precious  cool,  I  reckon." 

"  Well,  pray  continue,"  I  urged. 

But  at  this  moment  we  became  aware  of  a  confused 
uproar,  a  ribaldry  of  laughter  and  shouting.  Round  I 
started,  to  see  we  were  approaching  a  small  inn,  with  a 
sign  bearing  the  legend  "  The  Ring  o'  Bells,"  before  which 
inn  stood  a  number  of  vehicles  and  a  rough  crowd  of 
merrymakers  who  danced  and  sang  and  flourished  ale-pots. 
Beholding  this  unholy  company,  my  alarm  grew,  for  it 
seemed  their  vociferations  were  directed  at  us. 

"  Pull  up,  Tinker  —  pull  up  and  drink  wi'  us ! "  roared 
one. 

"  Aye  —  a  drink,  a  drink,  come  down  an*  drink !  "  cried 
another. 

"  And  bring  the  gal  along  wi'  ye ! "  cried  a  third. 

Suddenly,  seeing  Jeremy  heeded  them  no  whit,  a  big, 
swaggering  fellow  stepped  forward,  a  flashily  dressed 


170  Peregrine's  Progress 

herculean  figure  in  tops  and  cords,  his  high-collared,  brass- 
buttoned  coat  moulding  a  mighty  chest  and  spread  of 
shoulder;  which  formidable  person  now  advanced  upon  us 
flourishing  a  quart  pot  and  with  divers  of  the  riotous 
company  at  his  heels.  No  honest,  sun-burned  rustics  these, 
but  pallid,  narrow-eyed  folk  whose  half-furtive,  half- 
hectoring  air  gave  me  a  sense  of  evil  streets,  of  dark 
alleys  and  dens  where  iniquity  lurked,  and  my  alarm  and 
abhorrence  waxed  acute,  finding  vent  in  words : 

"What  vile  wretches!" 

"  Not  so,  brother ! "  answered  Jessamy,  viewing  them 
with  his  kindly  eyes  where  they  had  halted  across  the 
road,  barring  our  advance.  "  No,  brother,  these  are  all 
souls  to  be  snatched  to  the  Lord,  one  way  or  t'  other, 
brands  to  be  plucked  from  the  —  " 

"  Pull  up,  Tinker !  "  roared  the  big  fellow  threateningly. 
"  You  've  got  a  lass  there  as  I  likes  the  looks  on ;  pull  up, 
d*  ye  hear !  Look  at  the  shape  of  'er !  "  quoth  he,  pointing 
out  Diana  to  his  companions.  "A  tidy  piece  —  eh,  my 
bucks  an*  pippins  ?  " 

Here  rose  an  answering  chorus  of  laughing  profanity 
and  worse,  amongst  which  I  caught  the  words,  "Pretty 
filly !  "  "  A  dainty  tit !  "  "A  kiss  all  round,  Tom !  Share 
an'  share,  Tom ! "  "  Oho,  Tinker,  pull  an'  be  damned  t' 
ye!" 

Instead  of  complying,  Jeremy  touched  the  pony  to 
faster  pace  and  with  a  jingling  clash  of  tinware  we  bore 
down  upon  this  lewd-tongued  company  which,  howling 
obscenity,  scattered  promptly  right  and  left  —  all  except 
the  big  man  Tom  who,  with  a  dexterous  leap,  caught  the 
rein,  jerking  and  wrenching  at  the  bit  with  hand  so  cruelly 
strong  that  the  poor  animal  reared  up,  snorting  with 
fright  and  pain  and  the  cart  came  to  a  lurching  standstill. 

"  Did  n't  ye  hear  me  tell  ye  to  pull  up  ?  "  demanded  the 
man  Tom,  scowling.  "  When  I  says  a  thing,  I  means  it. 
And  now,  first  of  all  I  wants  a  kiss  from  the  gal  an* 
then  —  " 

"Stand  off,  ye  vermin!"  quoth  Jeremy  and,  reaching 


How  I  Met  Jessamy  Todd         171 

down  beneath  the  seat,  whipped  out  a  long-barrelled  pistol 
and  levelled  it  full  into  Tom's  big,  evil  face,  whereupon 
my  trembling  hand  loosed  the  saucepan  I  had  clutched  as 
a  weapon  and  I  stared  from  the  tense  features  of  the 
two  men  to  the  calm,  coldly  contemptuous  face  of  Diana. 
Then  spake  Jessamy  Todd: 

"  All  right,  Jerry !  Put  up  your  barker ;  here 's  where 
I  climb  into  the  ring  for  a  round  wi'  Old  Nick,"  and  taking 
off  his  frayed  hat  he  sent  it  spinning  through  the  air  to 
the  big  man's  feet,  who  promptly  kicked  it  into  the  ditch. 

"  Open  your  trap  an'  I  '11  serve  ye  the  same ! "  snarled 
the  fellow. 

"  Good ! "  answered  Jessamy  cheerily,  and  alighting 
from  the  cart  he  walked  slowly  towards  the  speaker,  view- 
ing the  big  man  over  with  kindly  eyes,  though  his  square 
chin  jutted  somewhat. 

"Friends  and  brothers,"  quoth  he,  throwing  out  his 
arms,  "  I  'm  a  man  o'  peace  as  cometh  afore  you  wi*  peace 
in  his  heart  and  the  Word  o'  the  Lord  upon  his  tongue — " 
Now  at  this,  some  laughed,  some  cursed  blasphemously,  and 
one  began  a  song  so  unspeakably  vile  that  my  ears  tingled, 
and  hot  with  shame  I  stole  a  glance  at  Diana,  who  sat 
watching  Jessamy's  good-tempered  face,  calmly  serene 
and  apparently  utterly  unconscious. 

"And  I  love  ye,  friends  and  brothers,"  continued  Jes- 
samy, "  because  you  be  all  tabernacles  o'  the  Lord,  'spite  o' 
your  beastly  ways,  and  formed  in  His  image,  for  all  your 
ugly  mugs.  Why  therefore  will  ye  desecrate  the  taber- 
nacle and  debase  His  image  —  " 

The  cheery,  musical  voice  was  drowned  by  shouts  and 
obscene  objurgations,  while  the  big  fellow,  seeing  the 
Tinker  had  laid  by  his  pistol,  clenched  brawny  fists,  shot 
out  brutal  jaw  and  glared  at  Jessamy  in  murderous 
fashion,  whereupon  the  excited  crowd,  swollen  now  con- 
siderably, hooted  and  clamoured,  pushed  and  jostled  all 
about  us  in  a  very  threatening  manner,  so  that  my  hand 
instinctively  clenched  itself  on  the  saucepan  again  and 
I  crept  nearer  to  Diana. 


1 72  Peregrine's  Progress 

"  Set  about  'im,  Tom !    Ah,  break  'is  nob,  lad ! "  bellowed 
the   swaying  crowd.      "Show   'im   'ow  you  laid   out   the 
*  North-country  Collier,'  Tom.     Knock  out  'is  ivories  — 
choke  'im  wi'  your  famble ! " 

"Hark'ce,  friend  Tom,"  said  Jessamy,  apparently 
quite  unmoved  by  the  growing  hostility  of  the  rabble,  "  I 
love  ye,  Tom !  And  I  love  ye,  first  because  you  're  a  child 
o*  God,  though  to  be  sure  ye  don't  look  it,  Tom !  "  Here 
Tom  unbuttoned  and  tossed  aside  his  tight-fitting  coat. 
"  And  secondly,"  pursued  Jessamy,  "  I  love  ye  because 
somewhere  inside  o*  ye  you  've  got  an  immortal  soul  —  of 
a  kind,  Tom,  that  the  Lord  holdeth  precious  and  beyond 
rubies  —  though  only  the  Lord  knoweth  why,  Tom."  Here 
the  big  man  tightened  his  belt  and  proceeded  to  roll  up 
his  sleeves.  "  Therefore,  Tom,"  continued  Jessamy, 
watching  these  preparations  with  kindly  interest,  "  there- 
fore, 't  is  your  soul  as  I  'm  after  and  the  souls  of  all  these 
pals  o*  yours  —  these  poor  lost  lambs  as  look  so  uncom- 
monly like  wolves,  Tom.  Howbeit  — 

Uttering  a  scornful  oath,  Tom  snatched  an  ale  mug 
from  one  near  by  and  dashed  its  contents  into  Jessamy's 
face,  whereupon  rose  a  yell  of  fierce  laughter  and  acclaim. 

"  And  now,  Tom  lad,"  sighed  Jessamy,  his  blue  eyes 
mild  as  ever,  while  the  liquid  dripped  from  the  great  jut 
of  his  chin,  "  now,  dear  friend,  let 's  you  an'  me  pray 
together!"  Then,  lifting  his  face  to  the  cloudless  sky, 
Jessamy  began  thus,  while  Tom  and  his  fellows  stared 
mute  with  amazement  or  perhaps  awed  by  something  in 
that  shapely,  patient,  yet  grimly  alert  figure: 

"O  Lord  who  looketh  into  all  hearts  and  in  every  heart 
can  find  something  good  among  the  evil  —  aye,  Lord,  even  in 
this  Tom's  heart,  since  he  is  child  o'  Thine  —  grant  that  I, 
Thy  humble  instrument,  may  rouse  the  good  within  Thy  Tom's 
heart  one  way  or  t'  other,  either  by  reason  and  gentleness  or 
force  and  —  " 

I  uttered  a  gasping,  inarticulate  cry  of  warning  but  in 
that  instant  Jessamy  moved  his  head  an  inch  or  so  and 


How  I  Met  Jessamy  Todd        173 

the  heavy  pewter  tankard  that  should  have  brained  him 
flew  harmlessly  by  and  rolled  clattering  a  good  twenty 
paces  behind  him. 

"  Ah,  Peregrine,"  said  Diana  in  sighing  whisper,  "  O 
Peregrine  —  watch  Jessamy  —  watch !  "  And  as  she  spoke 
the  big  fellow  rushed.  On  he  came,  head  lowered,  mighty 
fists  whirling,  to  butt  and  smite,  but  Jessamy  moved  also, 
slightly,  but  enough,  and  as  his  terrible  assailant  blun- 
dered past,  smote  him  lightly  on  the  crown  with  open  palm. 

"  Lord,  Tom  lad,"  he  admonished  in  his  clear,  ringing 
tones,  "  that 's  a  fool's  way  to  set  about  harming  your 
brother.  Give  over,  Tom,  give  over  and  let 's  pray  in- 
stead." Uttering  a  furious  oath,  Tom  swung  about 
and  smote  fiercely  with  right  and  left.  But  ducking  the 
blows,  Jessamy  slipped  nimbly  aside,  shaking  his  head  in 
mild  reproof. 

"Come,  come,  Tom,"  said  he;  "can't  ye  see  you're 
as  harmless  as  a  bleatin'  lamb  or  cooin*  dove?  I've  no 
wish  to  hurt  ye,  so  let 's  ha'  done  and  get  on  with  our 
prayers  —  " 

"  Fight ! "  roared  Tom,  beside  himself  with  fury. 
"  Stand  up  an'  fight,  you  —  "  and  here  followed  a  torrent 
of  foulest  invective  and  abuse. 

"  So  be  it !  "  said  Jessamy.  "  Though  I  warned  ye,  and 
Lord  knows  I  've  been  patient.  But  if  ye  will,  ye  will,  so, 
being  a  man  o'  peace,  I  '11  finish  ye  comfortable  and  quick 
—  come  on,  my  poor  lad ! " 

Tom  came;  with  a  rush  that  it  seemed  nothing  might 
withstand,  he  hurled  himself  upon  that  quiet  figure,  mighty 
shoulders  hunched,  huge  body  quivering,  eager  for  the 
fray ;  ensued  a  quick,  brief  trample  of  feet,  the  swift  play 
of  merciless  arms,  of  mighty  fists  that  smote  the  air,  and 
then  I  saw  the  upward  flash  of  Jessamy's  left,  heard  the 
impact  of  a  dreadful  blow,  and  as  Tom's  head  and 
shoulders  jerked  violently  up,  I  saw  the  flash  of  Jessamy's 
right  and  the  great  body  of  his  assailant,  rocked  and 
shaken  by  these  two  unerring,  terrible  blows,  shrank  hor- 
ribly upon  itself,  rolled  a  limp  and  twisted  heap  in  the 


174          Peregrine's  Progress 

dust,  and  lay  still,  with  Jessamy  poised  above  him,  his 
kindly  features  transfigured  with  a  wild  and  terrible  joy. 
For  a  long,  breathless  moment  Jessamy  stood  thus  above 
the  great,  huddled  form  of  his  insensible  antagonist,  and 
for  that  moment  no  one  moved,  it  seemed,  and  never  a  word 
spoken;  then  Jessamy  sighed,  shook  his  head,  clasped 
his  hands  and  looking  up  to  heaven,  prayed  thus,  none 
daring  to  interrupt: 

"  Lord,  seeing  force  and  conflict  was  needful,  let  it  not 
be  in  vain  but  forgive,  I  beseech  Thee,  my  unholy  joy  therein. 
Aa  Thy  servant's  fist  smote  this  Thy  son's  flesh,  so  may  Thy 
Troth  smite  his  heart  and  he  come  to  Thy  grace  thereby !  " 

This  supplication  ended,  he  turned  to  a  pale-faced, 
gaping  individual  who  stood  near  by,  a  slopping  tankard 
grasped  in  nerveless  hand. 

"  Friend,"  says  Jessamy,  "  I  '11  trouble  you  for  your 
ale."  The  man  gave  it  eagerly : 

"  Lord,  sir,"  said  he,  grinning  ingratiatingly,  "  you  did 
Tom  up  in  proper  style  and  no  mistake."  Stem-faced, 
Jessamy  turned,  and,  stooping  above  his  prostrate  and 
still  unconscious  antagonist,  dashed  the  ale  into  his  bloody 
face,  whereupon  Tom  groaned  and  stirred  feebly. 

"  Ale  be  good  stuff  —  sometimes,  took  externally,  which 
is  a  Latin  word  meaning  not  in  the  stomach ! "  said  Jes- 
samy, and  setting  an  arm  beneath  Tom's  battered  head, 
lifted  him  to  a  sitting  posture.  "  How  are  ye  now,  Tom?  " 
lie  enquired. 

"  Bad,  damned  bad !  "  groaned  Tom.  "  To  hit  a  man 
—  wi'  a  brick  —  ain't  the  Christian  way  to  fight ;  it  ain't 
Johnny  Bull." 

"  Here 's  your  brick,  friend  Tom,"  said  Jessamy,  show- 
ing his  brawny  fist. 

"Why,  then — who  —  who  are  ye?"  stammered  Tom. 

"  I  'm  Jessamy  Todd,  preacher,  man  o*  peace  —  and 
your  friend,  if  you  '11  ha'  me,  Tom." 

"Jessamy  —  Jessamy  Todd?  You?  O  Lord,  I  'm  bit ! 
Jessamy  Todd  —  why,  then,  no  wonder." 


How  I  Met  Jessamy  Todd     175 

And  now  the  crowd  caught  up  the  name,  speeding  it 
from  lip  to  lip. 

"  Jessamy  Todd !    It  be  Jessamy  Todd ! " 

"  Can  ye  walk,  friend  Tom?  " 

"I  think  so." 

"  Then  up  wi'  you  and  along  o*  me  into  the  '  Ring  o* 
Bells ' ;  I  '11  soon  make  ye  comfortable,  an*  then  you  an* 
me  will  pray  together,  shall  us,  friend?  " 

"  As  ye  will !  "  mumbled  Tom.  So,  having  aided  his  late 
antagonist  to  rise,  Jessamy  turned  to  nod  and  smile  at  us. 

"  Drive  on,  brothers,"  said  he,  "  I  must  bide  here  awhile 
on  the  Lord's  business,  so  drive  on.  I  '11  look  for  ye  at  the 
fair." 

My  stiffened  fingers  loosed  the  saucepan  handle,  for  now 
all  about  us  were  faces  that  smiled  and  nodded  cheerily, 
and  as  we  jingled  on  our  way  again,  the  fickle  crowd,  their 
animosity  quite  forgotten,  saluted  us  with  ringing  cheer. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

TELLS  OF  MY  ADVENTURES  AT  THE  FAIB 

A  HOARSE  clamour  upon  the  air,  shouts,  laughter,  the 
bray  of  horns,  throbbing  of  drums,  clashing  of  cymbals 
and  tinkling  of  bells:  a  pandemonium  that  deafened  me, 
a  blatant  uproar  that  shocked  and  distressed  me  as  I 
stood  amid  the  hurly-burly  of  the  fair  —  in  it,  not  of  it 
—  staring  about  me  for  some  glimpse  of  Diana  or  the 
Tinker  who  had  vanished  amid  the  surging  crowd  hours 
ago,  it  seemed,  and  whom  I  had  sought  vainly  ever  since. 

Thus  I  wandered,  lost  and  none  too  happy,  amid  a 
jumble  of  carts  and  waggons,  carriages  and  country  wains, 
of  booths  and  stalls  and  tents;  amid  a  restless,  seething 
crowd  of  people  who  pushed  and  strove  more  or  less  good- 
naturedly.  Among  all  these  unfamiliar  sights  and  sounds 
I  ranged  disconsolate,  awed  by  the  vast  concourse,  deaf- 
ened by  the  universal  uproar,  and  not  a  little  disgusted 
by  the  coarse  humour  and  rough  horse-play  of  this  truly 
motley  throng. 

On  I  went,  a  3ost  soul,  pushed  and  jostled;  past  rows 
of  gaudy  tents  and  shows,  each  with  its  platform  before 
it,  where  men  and  women,  in  outlandish  livery  and  spangled 
tights,  danced  and  sang,  cracked  broad  jokes,  beat  drums, 
blew  horns,  or  strove  to  out-roar  each  other  in  crying  up 
their  respective  wares  and  wonders.  One  in  especial  drew 
my  notice,  —  a  stout,  bull-necked  Stentor  in  mighty  cocked 
hat,  whose  brassy  voice  boomed  and  bellowed  high  above 
the  din,  so  that  I  paused  to  observe  him  in  wondering 
disgust. 

'In  meat  alone  —  in  meat  alone!'*  he  roared.     "Will 

eat  'is  weight  in  meat  alone!     The  famous  and  fab'lous 

iko  o'   Florence,  the  fire-eatin',  flame-swallerin',   fat 

feller  as  weighs  thirty-two  stone  if  a  hounce  —  seein'   's 

believin'  —  and  all  for  a  tanner  —  a  tanner !    Sixpence  an* 


Tells  of  My  Adventures  at  the  Fair  177 

no  more!  Come  and  see  Franko  the  fattest  feller  o* 
Florence  as  will  eat  fire,  devour  glass  and  swaller  swords, 
and  all  for  sixpence  —  for  sixpence !  See  Franko  as  will 
dance  ye  a  hornpipe,  breakdown  or  double-shuffle  wi'  hele- 
gance  and  hease,  bein'  nippy,  neat  and  nimble  though 
weighin'  thirty-two  stone,  seein  's  believin'  —  and  all  for 
a  tanner  —  a  tanner !  Walk  up,  ladies  and  gents,  an'  don't 
be  shy;  walk  up  an'  shake  'ands  wi'  Franko  the  fab'lous 
fat  feller  as  can  sing  ye,  dance  ye,  tell  fortun's,  forecast 
the  future,  cast  'orrer-scopes,  strike  na-tivities  or  stand 
on  'is  'ead  —  and  all  for  sixpence  —  for  sixpence !  " 

In  this  fashion,  or  much  like  it,  he  held  forth  tirelessly 
until,  chancing  to  meet  my  wide-eyed  gaze,  he  immediately 
singled  me  out  for  his  remarks  thus: 

"  Wot  O,  my  Lord,  wot  O !  You  in  the  nobby  'at  an* 
patched  unmentionables  —  wot  O !  Walk  up,  Tom-noddy, 
my  lord,  walk  up  and  spend  a  tanner;  never  mind  your 
breeches,  walk  up  an'  see  the  stoopendious  fat  feller  as 
could  swaller  ye,  breeches,  patches,  'at  an'  all,  an'  never 
blink  a  heyelid  — a  man  as  can  swaller 'is  wight  in  meat 
alone  —  in  meat  alone! 

Walk  up,  my  lord,  an'  see  Franko 
Breeches  or  no,  my  lord,  breeches  or  no ! " 

This  sorry  and  meaningless  jingle  set  the  immediate 
crowd  in  a  roar.  I  became  an  object  for  ribald  laughter 
and  cheers ;  I  was  pushed  and  hustled,  albeit  good- 
naturedly  enough,  but  none  the  less  to  my  great  annoy- 
ance, so  that  I  made  all  haste  to  wriggle  away  and,  espying 
a  narrow  lane  between  these  canvas  booths  and  tents,  I 
slipped  into  it,  took  to  my  heels  and  turning  a  sharp 
corner  in  full  career,  came  thus  upon  an  ancient  man  who 
sat  upon  a  box,  puffing  serenely  at  a  long  pipe  and  who, 
despite  my  so  sudden  appearance,  merely  glanced  at  me 
with  a  pair  of  keen,  bright  eyes  and  wished  me  "Good- 
day."  Hereupon  I  stopped  and,  because  I  had  very 
nearly  upset  him,  took  off  my  hat,  bowed,  and  humbly 


178  Peregrine's  Progress 

craved  his  pardon ;  at  this  he  gave  me  a  second  and  keener 
glance  and  uncovering  his  white  head,  returned  my  salute 
with  grave  punctilio. 

He  was  a  slight,  spare  old  man  habited  in  shabby  gar- 
ments of  a  quaint,  old-world  fashion,  but  in  his  upright 
carriage  was  an  impressive  dignity,  in  his  vigorous  ges- 
tures, quick  eyes  and  strongly  marked,  resolute  features  an 
air  of  command,  a  latent  power  very  arresting. 

"  I  fear  I  startled  you,  sir !  "  said  I. 

"  I  am  not  readily  startled,"  he  answered,  "  though  in- 
deed this  very  afternoon  I  was  beset  by  gipsy  rogues 
hereabouts  and  rescued  from  their  clutches  by  a  young 
Amazon  of  a  remarkable  beauty  and  a  rare  intelligence. 
Youth  is  ever  impetuous,  though  I  trust  your  so  pas- 
sionate speed  does  not  argue  depredations  upon  your 
neighbour's  goods;  you  are  not  a  runaway  pickpocket,  I 
hope?" 

"  Indeed,  no,  sir ! "  I  answered,  and  briefly  narrated 
the  reason  of  my  flight. 

"  Hum ! "  ej  aculated  the  aged  person  and  sat  puffing  his 
pipe  and  regarding  me  with  such  close  scrutiny  that  I 
grew  a  little  uneasy. 

"  I  trust  that  you  believe  me,  sir?  "  said  I. 

"  Entirely,  sir !  "  he  answered  with  a  quick,  decisive  nod. 
"  For  I  perceive  that  you  are  a  gentleman.  Therefore,  if 
you  have  the  time  and  inclination,  pray  sit  down  and  let 
us  talk  awhile." 

"  Willingly,  sir,"  said  I,  seating  myself  upon  the  grass, 
"  for  it  is  at  least  quieter  here,  and  I  will  confess  the 
crowd  with  its  tumultuous  turmoil  and  sordid  vulgarity 
offends  me  greatly." 

"Indeed,  sir!"  said  my  companion.  "And  yet  it  is 
simply  to  listen  to  what  you  term  offensive  and  vulgar 
turmoil  that  I  am  here.  For,  sir,  yonder  clamour,  being 
inarticulate,  may  speak  infinitely  to  such  as  hearken  un- 
derstandingly,  being  one  of  Nature's  awful  voices,  a  very 
symphony  of  Life.  Heard  separately,  each  sound  is  an 
offence,  I  admit,  but  blent  thus  together  they  become  akin 


Tells  of  My  Adventures  at  the  Fair  179 

to  the  incessant  surge  of  ocean,  the  roar  of  foaming  cata- 
racts, the  voice  of  some  rushing,  mighty  wind,  and  these 
are  the  elemental  music  of  God." 

"  Indeed,  sir,"  said  I,  "  sitting  here  with  you  sufficiently 
remote  from  the  crowd's  too-familiar  contact,  I  can 
begin  to  appreciate  the  wisdom  of  your  remarks." 

"  Yet  you  speak  a  little  disdainfully,  I  think,  sir !  But 
what  is  there  more  proper  to  the  contemplation  of  a 
philosopher  than  a  concourse  of  human  beings  ?  How  com- 
pelling its  interest,  how  infinite  its  variety !  The  good  rub 
shoulders  with  the  evil,  the  merry  with  the  sad,  the  mur- 
derer with  his  victim,  each  formed  alike  yet  each  dif- 
ferent—" 

All  at  once  as  I  listened,  my  attention  was  distracted  by 
a  face  that  projected  itself  suddenly  through  the  canvas 
of  an  adjacent  tent,  an  evil,  stealthy  face  with  narrowed 
eyes  that  watched  us  furtively  a  while  and  was  suddenly 
gone ;  my  companion  espied  it  also,  it  seemed,  for  he  sighed 
a  little  impatiently.  "  Tush,  young  sir !  "  said  he.  "  Will 
you  allow  the  face  of  a  peeping  rogue  to  alienate  your 
mind  from  a  conversation  that  promises  to  become  in- 
teresting? " 

"But  sir,"  said  I,  rising  somewhat  hurriedly,  "this 
place  is  suggestively  lonely;  I  think  we  were  wiser  to 
retire  —  " 

"  Go  if  you  will,  young  sir,"  broke  in  my  strange  com- 
panion a  little  grimly,  "  hasten  away  by  all  means,  but  I 
remain  here.'* 

"  As  you  will,  sir,"  I  answered  and  sat  down  again, 
though  careful  to  keep  my  eyes  in  the  one  direction. 

"  Sir,"  continued  the  aged  person,  "  I  have  seen  much 
of  men  and  cities,  I  have  journeyed  in  the  desolate  places 
of  the  world,  but — " 

Uttering  a  warning  cry,  I  sprang  to  my  feet  as  three 
men  appeared,  desperate-seeming  fellows  who  approached 
us  with  a  very  evident  intention:  but  suddenly,  as  I 
watched  them  in  sweating  panic,  I  heard  a  sharp  click 
behind  me,  and  immediately  they  halted  all  three,  their 


180  Peregrine's  Progress 

ferocious  looks  smitten  to  surprised  dismay  —  and  glanc- 
ing over  my  shoulder  I  beheld  the  aged  person  still  puffing 
serenely  at  his  pipe  but  with  his  slender  right  hand  grasp- 
ing a  small,  silver-mounted  pistol  levelled  at  our  would-be 
aggressors  across  his  knee.  And  there  was  something  very 
terrible,  I  thought,  in  his  imperturbable  serenity. 

"  Rogues !  Rascals !  "  sighed  he.  "  To  rob  is  sinful,  to 
disturb  the  excogitations  of  philosophers  is  blasphemous. 
I  found  it  necessary  to  shoot  one  of  your  sort  recently  — 
and  why  not  again?  " 

At  this  the  three  began  to  whine  while  the  ancient  per- 
son hearkened  and  puffed  his  pipe,  viewing  them  with  eyes 
of  scorn. 

"Oh,  begone!"  said  he.  "See  you  do  not  trouble  me 
again,  lest  I  prove  better  citizen  next  time  and  rid  the 
country  of  you  once  and  for  all."  Scarcely  had  the  words 
left  his  lips  than  the  cowed  ruffians  made  off  so  hastily 
that  they  might  have  vanished  into  thin  air. 

"  And  now,  sir,"  said  my  companion,  carefully  uncock- 
ing the  pistol  ere  he  pocketed  it,  "let  us  continue  our 
so  agreeable  conversation.  A  crowd  of  humans,  sir,  to 
my  mind  is  a  mystery  deep  as  ocean,  sublime  as  the  starry 
firmament,  for  who  shall  divine  the  thoughts,  hopes,  pas- 
sions and  desires  animating  its  many  various  and  com- 
ponent entities?  Moreover,  though  composed  of  many 
different  souls,  it  may  yet  possess  but  one  in  common,  to 
be  swayed  to  mirth  and  anger,  lifted  to  a  reverent  ecstasy 
or  fired  to  bloody  vengeance  and  merciless  destruction. 
What  is  there  can  give  any  just  conception  of  a  mystery 
so  complex  ?  " 

"  Surely  nothing,  sir,"  said  I. 

"  •N<XV»  young  sir,  therein  I  venture  to  think  you  are 
wrong,  for  we  possess  a  divine  joy,  a  soul  medium,  a  very 
gift  of  God  and  we  call  it,  —  music,  sir.  To  such  as  have 
ears,  music  is  the  speech  of  Gods,  of  the  Infinite,  soaring 
far  above  mere  words,  revealing  the  unconceived,  speaking 
forth  the  unthinkable." 

"And  what,  sir,  is  the  unthinkable?"  I  questioned. 


Tells  of  My  Adventures  at  the  Fair  1 8 1 

"  That  which  flashes  upon  a  man's  consciousness  with- 
out the  labour  of  thought,  an  intimate  cognizance  of  — 
What  the  devil  is  it  now,  Atkinson  ?  "  he  broke  off  so  sud- 
denly that  I  started  and,  glancing  up,  beheld  an  extremely 
neat,  grave,  sedate  personage  who  removed  his  hat  to  bow, 
and  advancing  deferentially,  stooped  sleek  head  to  murmur 
discreetly  in  my  aged  companion's  ear. 

"  Tell  'em  I  'm  engaged ;  bid  'em  be  hanged  —  no,  say 
I  '11  come !  "  The  grave  personage  bowed  again  and  moved 
sedately  off. 

"  Young  sir,"  sighed  my  companion,  rising,  "  I  have 
found  you  particularly  interesting,  your  arguments  well- 
founded,  your  views  on  music  particularly  arresting.  It 
grieves  me,  therefore,  to  depart,  but  duty  calls.  Pray 
oblige  me  with  your  arm,  for  I  am  a  little  lame.  A  bullet, 
sir ! "  he  volunteered  as  he  limped  beside  me.  "  A  shat- 
tered knee-cap  to  remind  me  of  my  vivid  youth,  an  awkward 
limp  to  keep  in  my  mind  the  lovely  cause  —  aha,  she  was 
all  clinging  tenderness  and  plump  as  a  partridge  then. 
I  was  her  Eugenic  and  she  my  Sacharissa  —  a  withered 
crone  to-day,  sir,  and,  alas,  most  inelegantly  slim,  I  hear 
—  bones,  a  temper,  an  eagle's  beak  and  nut-cracker  chin! 
Aye,  me — what  changes  time  doth  ring — eheu!  fugaces!" 

"And  what  of — him,  sir,  your  opponent?"  I  ventured 
to  ask. 

"  Was  necessitated  to  buy  himself  a  new  hat,  seeing 
I  'd  peppered  the  one  he  wore,  young  sir." 

Now  at  this  moment,  my  gaze  chancing  to  be  turned 
earthwards,  I  espied  a  pair  of  elegant  though  very  dirty 
boots  that  strode  us-wards,  jingling  their  spurs  in  oddly 
familiar  manner;  therefore  I  glanced  up* beholding  in  turn 
white  buckskin  breeches,  flowered  waist^tmt,  bottle-green 
coat  with  twinkling  silver  buttons,  the  frill  of  an  ample 
shirt-front  and  above,  the  square,  dimpled  chin,  shapely 
nose  and  resolute  blue  eyes  of  my  uncle  George  who, 
flourishing  off  his  hat,  advanced  towards  us,  his  handsome 
face  beaming  in  cheery  welcome. 

"Well  met,   my  Lord!"  he  exclaimed,   grasping  the 


1 82  Peregrine's   Progress 

ancient  person's  hand.     "  You  've  heard  the  fight 's  off?  " 

"Is  it,  George?    I  grieve!" 

"Yes,  it  seems  Jerningham's  man  Croxton  —  The 
*  Thunderbolt '  —  fell  foul  of  a  harmless-looking  customer 
on  his  way  here,  and  who  should  it  be  but  Jessamy  himself. 
So  they  fought  there  instead  of  here,  and  The  '  Thunder- 
bolt's* bolt  is  shot,  sir  —  and  that's  the  dooce  of  it  — 
the  whole  thing's  a  bite!  " 

"  Bite  indeed,  George ! "  agreed  his  lordship,  shaking 
white  head  until  his  shabby  hat  toppled.  "  Though,  to 
be  sure,  my  money  is  on  Jessamy.  But  indeed  the  affair 
slipped  my  memory  —  old  age,  George!  However,  For- 
tune was  so  kind  as  to  send  me  this  young  gentleman,  a 
youth  of  remarkably  sound  ideas,  Sir  George;  his  con- 
ception of  the  ethics  of  music,  for  instance  —  " 

My  uncle  George  glanced  at  me,  stared,  uttered  an  un- 
intelligible sound  and  fell  back,  gaping. 

"  How  are  you,  Uncle  George ! "  said  I,  and  removing 
my  shapeless  hat,  I  bowed. 

"Ha?"  exclaimed  his  lordship.  "You  would  seem  to 
be  acquainted  with  each  other!  Pray,  George,  have  the 
goodness  to  introduce  us." 

My  lord,  this  —  this  is  my  nephew,  Peregrine — young 


"What,  poor  Jack's  boy?" 

"The  same,  sir.  Peregrine,  his  lordship,  the  Earl  of 
Wyvelstoke.  Nephew  Peregrine  took  it  into  his  head  to 
see  the  world,  sir  —  and  this  is  how  he  does  it ! " 

"  Admirable  I "  exclaimed  his  lordship.  "  Indeed,  Mr. 
Vereker,  should  you  protract  your  stay  in  these  parts,  I 
shall  hope  to  repeat  the  pleasure  of  this  afternoon  and 
hear  more  of  your  musical  concepts.  Good-bye  t'  ye, 
George ! " 

And  limping  to  a  light  carriage  that  stood  adjacent, 
the  slender,  shabby  figure  climbed  in  with  the  aid  of  the 
assiduous  Atkinson,  and  drove  away. 

"  Well,  upon  my  soul,  Peregrine,"  exclaimed  my  uncle, 
removing  his  hat  to  ruffle  his  brown  curls,  "  a  precious 


Tells  of  My  Adventures  at  the  Fair    183 

pickle  you  look,  b'gad!  Where  in  the  world  — what  under 
heaven  —  your  breeches,  Perry  —  that  unspeakable  —  if 
only  Julia  could  see  you  now.  Oh,  the  dooce ! " 

Such  were  his  more  or  less  coherent  expressions  as  his 
astonished  gaze  took  in  the  various  items  of  my  appear- 
ance. Then  all  at  once  he  laughed  and  down  came  his 
great  hands  upon  my  shoulders.  "  B'gad,  Perry,  I  love 
ye  for  'em,  lad ;  dooce  take  me  if  I  don't !  "  he  exclaimed. 
"Those  breeches  now  —  where  did  you  find  'em?  " 

"  Sir,  they  were  bestowed  by  one  Galloping  Jerry,  a 
highwayman." 

My  words  produced  all  the  effect  I  had  anticipated; 
the  hat  fell  from  his  lax  grasp  and  lay  unheeded,  while 
my  uncle  stared  at  me  in  speechless  surprise.  "  These 
garments,  sir,"  I  continued,  lowering  my  voice  mysteri- 
ously, "  are  merely  a  disguise,  for  it  seems  there  was  a 
possibility  of  my  being  apprehended  as  Galloping  Jerry's 
accomplice.  Allow  me  to  return  your  hat,  sir." 

My  uncle  George  clutched  it  and  made  a  kind  of  gur- 
gling sound  in  his  throat. 

"  However,"  I  continued,  "  I  am  anxious  to  exchange 
these  things  for  others  less  conspicuously  hideous  and 
should  esteem  it  a  kindness  if  you  would  advance  the 
necessary  money  for  it,  for  sir,  I  am  penniless." 

"  Ha  —  your  highwayman  cove  robbed  you,  of  course !  " 

"  He  did,  Uncle,  but  had  the  extraordinary  magnanimity 
to  restore  all  he  'd  taken.  My  money,  sir,  went  in  the  — 
the  purchase  of  a  gipsy  maiden  —  " 

"  Hey  —  gipsy  —  a  woman  —  d*  ye  mean  —  you  —  " 

"  A  young  gipsy  girl,  Uncle." 

"  Good  God !  "  he  ej  aculated  faintly  and,  sinking  upon 
the  shaft  of  the  empty  cart  behind  him,  he  fanned  himself 
feebly  with  his  hat.  "  Peregrine,"  said  he,  shaking  grave 
head  at  me,  "  your  aunt  Julia  is  right  —  a  wonderful 
woman  !  Poetry  is  your  line,  after  all  —  books  —  ro- 
mances, lad  —  imagination  —  " 

"  You  think  I  am  romancing,  sir?  " 

"  Aye,   though   I   call   it   '  gammoning.' '; 


184  Peregrine's  Progress 

"  Sir,  you  affront  me !  " 

"  No  offence,  Perry,"  said  he  kindly.  "You  just  can't 
help  it  —  comes  natural  to  you  —  like  a  gamecock  fights. 
What  other  marvels  have  you  seen?  " 

"  A  tinker,  Uncle." 

"  Hum !    Anything  else?  " 

"  I  saw  Jessamy  Todd  fight  the  big  fellow  at  the  *  Ring 
o'  Bells  '  this  morning  and — " 

'*  What? "  cried  my  uncle,  on  his  feet  in  a  moment. 
"You  saw  Jessamy  fight?  Oh,  begad,  Perry  —  why 
couldn't  you  say  so  before?" 

"  You  believe  this,  then,  sir?  " 

"  I  do.  Tell  me  all  about  it.  I  've  heard  rumours  — 
they  say  it  was  a  clean  knockout  —  " 

"  The  big  man  was  indeed  rendered  quite  unconscious, 
Uncle  —  " 

"  And  you  saw?     Out  with  it,  Perry  lad !  " 

"  But  sir,"  I  enquired,  a  little  disdainfully,  "  why  all 
this  stir  about  a  vulgar  brawl?  " 

"Vulgar  brawl,  begad  —  " 

"  Well,  a  brutal  bout  at  fisticuffs  with  a  ruffian  — " 

"  Heavens  and  earth,  boy,"  exclaimed  my  uncle,  in  grow- 
ing indignation,  "  don't  ye  know  you  were  privileged  to  see 
one  of  the  very  greatest  fighters  of  any  time,  school  or  — 
oh,  b'gad  — " 

"You  mean  Jessamy  Todd,  sir?" 

"  Of  course  I  do.  And  what 's  more  —  Tom  Croxton, 
The  'Thunderbolt' — the  man  who  forced  Jessamy  to 
fight  —  was  a  plant  —  " 

;*  Now  pray,  Uncle  George,  how  may  a  great,  hulking 
ruffian  even  faintly  resemble  any  such  thing?  " 

At  this  my  uncle  gasped,  stared,  shook  his  head,  jingled 
his  spurs  and  finally  spoke: 

"In  Heaven's  name,  don't  pretend  you're  so  infernal 
green,  Perry!  The  'Thunderbolt'  is  a  fighting  man  from 
Lambeth,  a  tough  customer  who 's  won  a  fight  or  so  lately 
and  thought  he  could  beat  anything  on  two  pins.  So  we 
were  bringing  him  down  here,  hoping  to  match  him  with 


Tells  of  My  Adventures  at  the  Fair   185 

Jessamy,  or,  failing  him,  some  other  good  man.  But  the 
fool,  not  knowing  Jessamy,  get's  himself  thrashed,  and 
the  whole  thing 's  a  flam." 

"  Jessamy  has  given  up  the  game,  Uncle." 

"  I  know,  but  he  loves  it  still.  And  you  saw  the  fight ! 
Tell  me  of  it  —  no,  wait  —  the  others  must  hear."  So 
saying,  my  uncle  George  hooked  his  powerful  arm  in  mine 
and  led  me  whither  he  would.  By  devious  ways  we  went, 
to  avoid  the  crowd;  dodging  behind  empty  caravans  and 
waggons,  skirting  booths  and  tents  until  we  came  on  one 
greater  than  all  the  rest,  a  huge  canvas  structure  into 
which  he  brought  me  forthwith.  The  place  was  empty 
except  for  some  scant  few  persons  grouped  about  a  stage 
whereon  two  fellows,  naked  to  the  waist,  their  fists  swathed 
in  what  I  believe  are  termed  '  muffles ',  dodged  and  ducked, 
feinted  or  smote  each  other  with  great  spirit  and  gusto 
until  one  of  them,  reeling  from  a  flush  hit,  sat  down  with 
sudden  violence  and  remained  in  this  posture  to  blink  and 
get  his  breath. 

"  Dooce  —  take  me  —  Tom ! "  exclaimed  this  individual, 
in  breathless  reproach.  "Your  —  infernal  mug's — hard 
as  —  iron ! " 

"  Craggy,  my  lord ! "  answered  the  other  hoarsely. 
"  Cragg  by  name  an'  Craggy  by  natur',  my  lord ! " 

Thither  my  uncle  George  led  me,  his  spurs  jingling, 
whereupon  the  spectators  turned  to  salute  him  and  stare 
at  me,  among  whom  I  recognised  my  uncle  Jervas. 

"What,  George,"  enquired  one,  "ha*  you  found  Jes- 
samy ?  " 

"  No  !  "  answered  my  uncle,  slapping  me  on  the  shoulder. 
"  But  the  next  best  thing,  Devenham  — " 

"  And  a  demned  queer-looking  thing  it  is,  George ! " 
added  the  recumbent  gentleman,  viewing  me  with  a  pair 
of  blue  eyes,  one  of  which  exhibited  signs  of  recent  punish- 
ment. 

"  None  the  less,  Jerny,"  answered  uncle  George,  "  it  is 
my  nephew.  Gentlemen,  I  have  the  honour  to  present 
Mr.  Peregrine  Vereker !  Nephew,  in  the  floored  Corinthian 


1 86  Peregrine's  Progress 

with  the  damaged  ogle,  you  will  remark  Richard,  Marquis 
of  Jemingham ;  on  my  right,  Viscount  Devenham ;  on  my 
left,  Sir  Peregrine  Beverley ;  before  you  Major  Dashwood, 
Mr.  Wemyss  and  your  affectionate  uncle  Jervas.  And 
now,  gentlemen  all,  my  nephew  will  tell  you  that  he  comes 
fresh  from  witnessing  the  defeat  of  Jerningham's  un- 
fortunate champion  The  *  Thunderbolt '  at  the  hands  of 
the  unconquerable  Jessamy  Todd ! ' 

"  Aha !  "  cried  the  Marquis,  springing  lightly  to  his  feet 
and  muffling  naked  torso  in  gaudy  dressing-gown;  and 
next  moment  he  and  the  others  were  thronged  about  me 
vociferous  for  knowledge. 

For  a  moment  I  stood  looking  round  upon  the  ring  of 
clean-cut,  eager  faces,  tongue-tied  and  somewhat  non- 
plussed ;  but  seeing  with  what  unaffected  and  hearty  good 
will  they  greeted  me,  nor  heeded  my  disfiguring  attire,  I 
made  my  bow  and  plunged  into  a  full  and  particular 
relation  of  Jessamy  Todd's  encounter  with  the  man  Tom. 
As  my  narrative  progressed,  the  interest  of  my  audience 
waxed,  and  I  was  gratified  and  stimulated  by  a  ripple  of 
excitement  and  hushed  exclamations  which,  as  I  ended, 
swelled  to  a  ringing  cheer  for  Jessamy  Todd.  Thereafter 
my  hand  was  shaken  heartily  by  one  and  all,  with  many 
laudations  on  my  descriptive  powers,  in  the  midst  of  which 
my  uncle  Jervas  touched  me  on  the  shoulder  and,  bowing 
my  adieux,  I  took  my  departure  and  thus  presently  found 
myself  in  the  open  air  walking,  rather  sheepishly,  be- 
tween my  two  relatives. 

Once  beyond  eyeshot  of  the  curious,  my  uncle  Jervas 
paused  and  fell  back  a  step,  the  better  to  behold  me,  peer- 
ing through  his  glass  at  each  individual  article  of  my 
attire  and  murmuring  such  ejaculations  as: 

"  Astounding !    Astonishing !    Amazing !  " 

"  Tells  me  he  had  'em  of  a  highwayman,  Jervas ! "  vol- 
unteered uncle  George. 

"  A  most  distressing  vision ! "  sighed  my  uncle  Jervas. 
"  A  positive  walking  disgust !  And  yet  —  hum !  " 

"And  a  very  creditable  pair  o'  black  eyes,  Jervas." 


Tells  of  My  Adventures  at  the  Fair    187 

"  True,  George !  Our  youth  has  been  observing  life  at 
close  quarters,  it  seems." 

"  B'gad  —  he  has  so,  brother !  "  chuckled  uncle  George. 

"  Tells  me  he 's  spent  all  his  money  on  women ! " 

My  uncle  Jervas  very  nearly  dropped  his  eyeglass. 

"  Now  —  'pon  my  everlasting  —  "  his  voice  failed  and 
he  gazed  at  me  quite  dumbfounded  for  once. 

"  Think  o'  Julia ! "  said  uncle  George,  with  a  kind  of 
groan.  "Think  of — 'Ode  to  a  Throstle'  —  poor  Julia 
—  sweet  soul !  "  My  two  uncles  turned  from  my  indignant 
form  to  regard  each  other;  then,  all  at  once,  the  grim 
lips  of  my  uncle  Jervas  twitched,  quivered  to  a  flash  of 
white  teeth,  but  his  laughter  was  drowned  by  uncle 
George's  cachinnations  where  he  stood  on  one  leg,  slapping 
at  the  other  brawny  thigh  until  the  dust  flew. 

"  Sirs,"  said  I,  folding  my  arms  and  glancing  from  one 
to  other  disdainfully,  "your  mirth  is  as  unwarranted  as 
unseemly !  The  money  in  question  was  expended  in  the 
service  of  —  of  one  who — whose  need  was  instant  and 
great.  I  have  the  honour  to  bid  you  good-bye !  " 

But,  as  I  turned,  my  uncle  Jervas  laid  his  hand  on  my 
arm,  a  white,  elegant  hand  strangely  out  of  place  on  my 
rough  and  weather-beaten  coat-sleeve. 

"  Pray  accept  our  sincerest  apologies,  Peregrine,"  said 
he.  Now  at  this  I  glanced  up  in  wondering  surprise,  for  in 
the  touch  of  this  slim  hand,  in  voice  and  look,  I  had  an 
indefinable  sense  of  comradeship  that  thrilled  me  with 
sudden  pride. 

"  My  dear  Uncle,"  I  exclaimed,  grasping  his  hand, 
"  pray  trust  me  always  to  remember  that  I  am  a  Vereker 
also." 

"  B'gad,  and  there  ye  have  it,  Jervas ;  could  n't  ha*  put 
it  better  yourself ! " 

"And  pray,  sirs,  how  is  my  dear  and  best  of  aunts?" 

At  this  question  my  uncle  Jervas  pursed  his  lips  in  a 
soundless  whistle  and  smoothed  snowy  shirt-frill  with 
caressing  fingers. 

"  Perry,"  said  uncle  George,  removing  his  hat  to  ruffle 


1 88  Peregrine's  Progress 

his  curls,  "  you  've  heard  of  bears  robbed  of  cubs,  of  the 
Hyr  —  what  's-a-name  tiger  — 

"  Hyrcanian,  George!  "  murmured  uncle  Jervas. 

"  Well,  they  're  playful  pets  in  comparison.  How  is 
your  aunt?  B'gad,  Perry,  my  lad,  that's  precisely  the 
dooce  of  it,  d'  ye  see ! " 

"She  —  she  is  very  well,  I  hope?"  faltered  I. 

"  Assuredly !  "  answered  my  uncle  Jervas.  "  But  being 
the  —  ah  —  truly  feminine  creature  she  is,  your  remark- 
able aunt,  with  more  or  less  reason,  has  leapt  to  the  con- 
clusion that  we  are  the  cause  of  what  she  terms  your 
*  desertion  ',  and  is  a  little  incensed  against  us  — 

"  Incensed,  d'  ye  call  it,  Jervas  ? "  exclaimed  uncle 
George.  "  A  little  incensed  is  it  —  oh,  b'gad ! " 

"  And  declines  to  see  or  hold  communications  with 
us —  " 

"And  when   she  does,  she  —  she  don't!"  added  uncle 
George.     "Last  time  I  ventured  to  call,  she  looked  over 
me,  and  under  me,  and  round  me,  and  through  me  but  never 
—  at  me.     Dooced  trying  y'  know,  Perry  !  " 

"  And  most  disappointing !  "  said  I.  "  My  dream  that 
you  —  one  of  you  might  comfort  her  —  " 

"  Was  a  damned  piece  of  impertinence !  "  murmured  my 
uncle  Jervas,  his  aesthetically  pallid  cheek  tinged  with 
unusual  colour.  "  Your  aunt  knows  her  own  mind  and  has 
grieved,  raged,  wept,  languished  and  advertised  for  you 
in  her  thorough  fashion  —  " 

"  Offers  five  hundred  pounds  for  your  recovery,  lad ! " 
added  uncle  George. 

"  Which,"  continued  uncle  Jervas,  "  is  a  fair  sum  of 
money,  the  natural  consequence  being  that  the  poor,  sweet, 
soul  has  been  plagued  by  all  manner  of  people,  day  and 
night,  eagerly  endeavouring  to  restore  waifs  and  strays 
of  both  sexes  and  all  ages,  so  much  so  that  your  uncle  and 
I  were  compelled  to  call  in  and  suppress  such  notices  as 
had  appeared  —  here  is  one!"  From  his  pocket  uncle 
Jervas  took  a  handbill  which  he  unfolded  and  passed  to 
me;  whereon  I  read  this: 


Tells  of  My  Adventures  at  the  Fair   1 8  g 

£500.         LOST.         REWARD. 

ME.  PEREGRINE  VEREKER 
AGED  19. 

Here  followed  a  most  minute  and  painfully  accurate  de- 
scription of  my  garments  and  person;  and  below,  these 
words : 

WHEREAS:  my  loved  nephew,  PEREGRINE 
VEREKER,  acting  upon  the  PERNICIOUS 
&  EVIL  COUNSEL  of  certain  CRUEL  and 
HEARTLESS  advisers,  fled  from  home  and  his 
only  TRUE  FRIEND  on  the  night  of  the 
10th.  inst:  the  above  ,£500  will  be  paid  to  such 
person  or  persons  who  shall  return  him  safe  and 
unharmed  or  give  such  information  as  shall  lead 
to  his  happy  recovery  and  restoration  to  the 
loving  care  of 

JULIA  CONROY. 

"  Great  heaven !  "  I  exclaimed,  crumpling  the  document 
angrily.  "  It  reads  as  if  I  were  some  pet  animal !  " 

"  Precisely !  "  murmured  my  uncle  Jervas.  "  As  you 
seemed  likely  to  become,  nephew.  None  the  less,  the  docu- 
ment evinces  something  of  your  aunt's  desire  for  your 
return,  and  it  is  easy  to  imagine  her  gratitude  when  I 
shall  restore  you  to  her  arms — " 

"  Hold  hard,  Jervas ! "  exclaimed  my  uncle  George, 
clutching  my  left  arm.  "  'T  was  I  found  him !  " 

"  But  consider,  my  dear  George,"  sighed  my  uncle  Jer- 
vas, laying  elegant  hand  upon  my  right  shoulder,  "  I  bear 
the  brunt  of  her  blame,  as  usual  —  " 

"  But  damme,  Jervas  —  " 

"But  pray  reflect  further,  dear  George;  I  am,  alas, 
slightly  your  senior  and,  as  such,  claim  the  right  —  " 

"  But  my  dear  uncles,"  I  interrupted  at  this  juncture, 
"  pray  remark  that  I  have  no  intention  of  returning  home 
for  some  time." 

"  Oh,  indeed,  nephew?  "  sighed  my  uncle  Jervas,  his  slim 
hand  tightening  a  little.  "  May  one  venture  to  ask  why?  " 


Peregrine's  Progress 

"  I  know !  "  sighed  uncle  George.  "  Women,  Jervas  — 
feminine  spells,  pour  lad!" 

"  For  one  thing,"  1  answered  patiently,  "  because  I  have 
decided  to  become  a  tinker  for  a  while." 

"  Hum !  "  murmured  my  uncle  Jervas.  "  A  useful  trade, 
but  scarcely  one  I  should  have  chosen  for  you  —  still  —  " 

"  And  there  he  is,  at  last !  "  exclaimed  uncle  George  sud- 
denly, and  beckoned  with  imperious  hand;  thus,  glancing 
whither  he  looked,  I  espied  Jessamy  Todd  and,  with  a 
sudden  twist,  I  broke  away  and  ran  to  meet  her  who  walked 
at  Jcssamy's  side. 

"  O  Diana ! "  I  exclaimed,  "  I  have  been  looking  for  you 
all  afternoon.  Come ! "  And  taking  her  hand,  I  led  her 
up  to  my  astonished  uncles. 

"  Sirs,"  said  I,  "  it  is  my  privilege  to  introduce  my 
friend  Diana,  whom  I  hope  to  marry  as  soon  as  possible." 

For  a  long  moment  after  I  had  spoken,  Diana  stood, 
shapely  head  aloft,  fronting  their  amazed  scrutiny  in 
proud  and  sullen  defiance;  when  at  last  she  spoke,  her 
voice  sounded  all  untroubled  and  serene. 

"  I  know,"  said  she,  nodding,  "  I  know  what 's  in  your 
minds  —  you  'm  thinking  as  I  ain't  fit  for  him !  Well, 
my  fine  gentlemen,  he  should  n't  marry  me,  even  if  he  loved 
me  —  which  he  don't,  or  I  loved  him  —  which  I  don't  and 
never  shall ! "  Then  without  so  much  as  a  glance  in  my 
direction,  she  turned  and  sped  away. 

But  I  was  not  to  be  left  thus,  for,  escaping  uncle 
George's  restraining  clutch,  I  followed  her ;  glancing  buck, 
I  saw  my  uncle  Jjtrvas,  white,  impressive  hand  on  Jessamy's 
shoulder,  speaking  very  earnestly  to  him  and  with  his  keen 
gaze  fixed  on  myself.  A 

It  was  amid  the  jostling  traffic  of  ffie  booths  that  I 
found  her;  she  was  standing  Before  a  stall  devoted  to  the 
sale  of  gauds  and  finery,  but  espying  me  she  made  off  and 
I,  intent  on  pursuit,  was  wriggling  my  way  through  the 
crowd  when  rose  a  sudden  cry  of  "  Thieves !  Robbery ! 
Stop  thief!1  Rough  hands  seized  me  and,  checked  thus 
rudely  in  full  career,  I  was  swung  around  to  confront  a 


Tells  of  My  Adventures  at  the  Fair   191 

small,  fierce-eyed  fellow  who  cursed  and  swore,  hopped  and 
flourished  his  fists  under  my  nose  in  very  threatening  and 
unpleasant  manner. 

"  V'ere  is  it,  ye  young  wagabone? "  he  demanded  in 
shrill  accents.  "V'ere  is  it?  As  fine  a  lady's  lookin'- 
glass  as  ever  vas,  a  genuine  hantique  framed  in  solid  silver 
an'  worth  its  weight  in  gold.  Vat  ha'  ye  done  wi'  it,  you 
desp'rit,  thievin'  young  willin',  you?" 

Now  it  was  upon  my  lips  to  indignantly  deny  so  vile  an 
accusation,  but  the  words  were  arrested  by  a  sudden,  hor- 
rid thought,  a  dreadful  suspicion,  for  in  this  moment  I 
remembered  Diana  had  passed  this  way  very  recently  and, 
calling  to  mind  the  unfortunate  predilection  for  appro- 
priating the  goods  of  others  which  she  had  termed  "  prig- 
ging," I  knew  a  sudden  shame  on  her  account  and  therewith 
a  sick  fear  lest  she  be  caught  with  the  damning  evidence 
of  guilt  upon  her. 

Thus,  despite  the  fierce  hands  that  grasped  me  and  the 
bony  knuckles  that  obtruded  themselves  painfully  into  the 
nape  of  my  neck,  I  stood  mute,  profoundly  unheedful  of 
the  little  man's  excited  capering,  whirling  fists  and  threats 
of  condign  punishment. 

By  reason  of  the  little  man's  excited  antics  and  high- 
pitched  threats  and  wailings,  we  were  very  soon  the  centre 
of  a  pushing,  inquisitive  throng;  faces  peered  at  me,  fists 
were  shaken  and  voices  reviled  me,  in  especial  one,  that  of 
an  evil-faced  man  whose  narrow  eyes  seemed  vaguely  famil- 
iar. Every  moment  the  hostile  demonstrations  of  the 
crowd  grew  more  threatening  until  suddenly,  and  to  my 
inexpressible  comfort,  above  the  angry  clamour  arose  a 
voice  peculiarly  rich  and  musical. 

"Give  way,  friends,  give  way  —  yon  lad's  a  friend  o' 
mine  —  give  way !  "  The  ring  about  me  was  split  apart 
by  the  forward  thrust  of  a  sinewy  shoulder,  and  Jessamy 
appeared  with  Diana  close  beside  him.  "  Why,  what 's  the 
trouble,  brother?  "  he  enquired. 

"  Thievin'  —  robbery,  that 's  what ! "  cried  the  little 
man,  capering  higher  than  ever.  "  Stole  me  silver-framed 


192  Peregrine's  Progress 

mirror,  'e  'as,  the  young  wagabone — a  genuine  hantique 
worth  its  weight  in  hemeralds  —  stole  me  mirror  and  don't 
deny  it,  neither —  ! 

"  Who  says  he  stole  it?  "  demanded  Jessamy.  "  Did  any 
o*  ye  see  him  commit  the  fact?"  At  this  the  small  man 
blinked,  and  the  two  that  held  me  stared  upon  each  other 
a  little  at  a  loss. 

"  Who  says  my  friend  stole  your  vallybles  —  come !  " 
demanded  Jessamy. 

"  Why,  we  all  says  so !  "  cried  the  little  man.  "  An'  he 
can't  deny  it  —  and  no  more  'e  don't,  neither !  " 

"  However,"  said  Jessamy,  "  my  friend  ain't  stole  your 
mirror,  friend." 

"Then  'oo  'as?"  demanded  the  little  man,  capering 
again. 

"  Why  —  him,  for  sure !  "  said  Diana  suddenly,  point- 
ing at  the  narrow-eyed  fellow  who,  blenching  before  her 
fierce  look,  turned  to  flee.  "  It 's  Hooky  Sam ! "  she  cried, 
and  in  that  moment  leapt  upon  him.  Ensued  a  moment's 
scuffling  and  Diana  sprang  away,  the  stolen  mirror  in  her 
hand.  "  Here 's  your  trinket !  "  she  cried,  tossing  it  to  its 
gaping  owner.  "  Next  time  it 's  stole,  don't  go  blaming 
the  wrong  one." 

Hereupon  my  captors  loosed  me  and  turned  to  seize  the 
real  culprit  but,  profiting  by  the  momentary  confusion, 
he  ducked  and  squirmed,  wriggled  and  dived  under  and 
between  such  arms  and  hands  as  made  to  stay  him  and, 
breaking  free,  took  to  his  heels,  and  the  crowd,  losing  all 
interest  in  us,  betook  itself  to  the  chase,  shouting  and 
hallooing  in  joyous  pursuit. 

"  And  now,  friend,"  said  Jessamy,  addressing  the  small 
man,  who  danced  and  capered  no  more  but  stood  somewhat 
crestfallen,  "'twould  be  well  done,  I  think,  to  ask  my 
young  friend's  pardon."  The  which  he  did  and  I  little 
heeding,  all  my  looks  being  for  Diana,  who  stared  back  at 
me ;  and  meeting  her  clear-eyed  scrutiny,  I  felt  my  cheeks 
flushing  guiltily  and  turned  to  grip  Jessamy's  hand  and 
to  thank  him  for  his  trust  and  friendship. 


Tells  of  My  Adventures  at  the  Fair    193 

"  But  why,"  demanded  Diana,  "  why  did  you  let  'em 
think  it  was  you  ?  " 

Now  here,  having  no  answer  ready,  I  adopted  her  own 
method. 

"  Just  because !  "  said  I. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE    ETHICS    OF    PRIGGING 

MXG  was  at  hand,  lights  began  to  wink  and  flare  ambng 
booths  and  shows,  and  the  crowd  seemed  to  be  growing 
even  more  riotous ;  thus  I,  for  one,  was  profoundly  thank- 
ful to  leave  behind  its  roaring  clamour  and  seek  those 
quiet,  leafy  shades  where  the  Tinker  had  appointed  us  to 
meet  with  him. 

"  And  to  think,"  said  Jessamy,  as  we  walked  on  side  by 
side,  "  to  think  as  '  Firebrand  Vereker  '  is  your  uncle  —  not 
to  mention  Sir  George,  as  once  fou't  ten  rounds  wi'  ' Buck 
Vibart'  !  To  think—  " 

"Mighty  fine  gentlemen,  ain't  they,  Jess?"  enquired 
Diana,  with  a  toss  of  her  shapely  head. 

" Of  the  finest,  Ann!  Honoured  by  all,  from  the  Prince 
down.  And  to  think  as  Mr.  Vereker  here  —  " 

"  My  name  is  Peregrine ;"  said  I,  "  indeed,  I  would 
rather  you  called  me  Perry,  it  is  shorter." 

"As  Mr.  Perry,  here  —  " 

"  Perry ! "  I  admonished. 

"  As  —  Perry  is  their  own  nevvy  —  " 

"  Though  he  don't  look  like  it ! "  added  Diana. 

"Why,  that's  true,  Ann,  that's  true;  but  his  clothes 
can  be  changed  —  " 

"  But  his  face  can't,  Jess !  " 

"  Lord  bless  me,  Ann,  what 's  wrong  wi'  his  face?  " 

"  Only  everything!  "  she  answered,  with  another  disdain- 
ful gesture  of  her  head. 

"I  am  extremely  sorry  that  my  face  displeases  you, 
Diana,"  said  I. 

"  So  'm  I !  "  she  nodded.  "  Though  it  ain't  your  fault, 
I  s'pose." 

f  you  allude  to  my  bruises  and  black  eyes  — " 

"  They  're  nearly  well,"  said  Jessamy. 


The  Ethics  of  Prigging  195 

"  I  don't !  "  said  Diana. 

"  Then  pray  what  particularly  displeases  you  in  my 
face  this  evening?"  I  enquired. 

"  All  of  it !  You !  Your  ways  !  Makin*  a  fool  o*  me 
afore  your  fine  uncles  and  them  staring  their  proud  eyes 
out !  As  if  I  'd  ever  marry  —  you ! "  At  this  Jessamy 
opened  his  eyes  rather  wide  and  I  fancy  his  lips  quivered 
slightly. 

"  Ah,  but  you  will,  Diana !  "  said  I.  "  My  mind  is  made 
up." 

"What's  that  matter?" 

"  A  great  deal !  The  whole  affair  is  settled  definitely." 
Here  she  turned  on  me  in  such  flaming  anger  that  I  fell 
back  a  step  in  utter  amazement,  and  Jessamy,  murmuring 
something  about  "  seeing  if  supper  was  ready  "  quickened 
his  stride  and  left  us  together. 

"Why  did  ye  do  it?"  she  panted.  "Why  did  ye  let 
'em  think  'twas  you  stole  that  looking-glass?" 

"  Because  it  was  my  whim !  " 

"Oh,  I  know  —  I  know!"  she  cried,  positively  gnashing 
her  teeth  at  me. 

"  Then  why  trouble  to  ask?  " 

"  You  thought  't  was  me ! "  she  cried.  "  You  dared  to 
think  I  'd  stolen  it.  You  did  —  you  did !  Ah,  you  're 
afraid  to  own  it !  " 

"And  if  I  did,"  cried  I,  angered  at  last,  "hadn't  I 
reason  enough,  remembering  your  —  your  propensities  — 

"  What  d'  ye  mean  ?    What 's  propensities  ?  " 

"  Well,  your  predilections  —  " 

"Ah,  talk  plain!" 

"  Well,  then,  remembering  those  three  guineas  and  the 
duck  you  filched,  I  naturally  supposed  — 

Uttering  a  sobbing  cry  she  leapt,  striking  at  me  wildly, 
but  ducking  in  under  the  blow,  I  caught  her  in  my  arms. 
For  a  moment  she  struggled  fiercely,  then  her  writhing  body 
grew  soft  and  yielding  in  my  clasp,  and  she  burst  into  a 
passion  of  tears. 

Now  as  she  drooped  thus  in  my  embrace,  her  slender  form 


196  Peregrine's  Progress 

shaken  bj  sobs,  I  leant  nearer  and,  moved  by  a  sudden 
impulse,  kissed  her  hair,  her  eyes,  her  parted  lips,  lips  that 
quivered  under  mine  for  a  breathless  moment ;  then,  loosing 
her,  I  stepped  back  to  see  her  staring  at  me  through  her 
tears  with  a  look  of  speechless  amaze.  Suddenly  her 
glance  fell  and  she  covered  her  burning  cheeks ;  and,  glanc- 
ing up  from  earth  to  sky,  I  felt  a  vague  wonder  to  see  them 
all  unchanged. 

"O  Diana,"  said  I,  a  little  breathlessly.     "O  Diana, 
don't  cry!  And  forgive  me  for  misjudging  you,  I  —  I  was 
ashamed,  but  I  would  have  gone  to  prison  for  you  gladly 
just  the  same.    I'm  —  humbly  sorry;  you  see,  it  was — 
that  duck  and  the  man's  three  guineas.     Only  don't  — 
don't  sob  so  bitterly,  Diana,  or  I  shall  have  to  —  kiss  you 
again." 

At  this,  she  walked  on  once  more,  though  she  kept  her 
gaze  averted. 

Far  before  us  strode  Jessamy  who,  reaching  a  five- 
barred  gate,  took  a  run  and  cleared  it  with  a  graceful 
ease  that  filled  me  with  envious  admiration.  Reaching  this 
same  gate  in  due  course,  I  clambered  over  and,  from  the 
other  side,  proffered  Diana  my  assistance,  but  she  merely 
scowled  and  setting  hand  to  the  top  bar,  over  she  came 
with  a  vision  of  shapely  limbs  and  flutter  of  petticoats. 

"  You  have  very  pretty  ankles  !  "  said  I  impulsively. 

"  Don't  be  foolish ! "  she  retorted,  with  a  petulant  fling 
of  her  shoulder ;  and  after  a  moment,  "  what  are  my 
ankles  to  you?  "  she  demanded  sullenly. 

"  A  great  deal,  seeing  they  will  belong  to  me  some  day." 

"  Never  —  oh,  never !  "  she  cried,  between  clenched  teeth. 
"  I  'm  done  wi'  you,  young  man." 

"  Folly !  "  I  retorted.    "  Don't  be  silly,  young  woman." 

"I'll  — I'll   run  away  —  " 

"  Very  well,"  said  I,  nodding,  "  then  I  '11  find  you  again 
if  it  costs  me  every  penny  of  my  heritage!"  At  this  she 
turned  with  clenched  fists,  but  seeing  me  stand  prepared, 
walked  on  again. 

"  I  hate  you  !  "  she  exclaimed  vehemently. 


The  Ethics  of  Prigging  197 

"  No  matter !  "  said  I. 

"  You  're  a  —  a  coward !  " 

"  I  know  it !  "  I  sighed. 

"  A  fool  wi'  no  manliness  in  you ! " 

"  Agreed !  "  quoth  I.     "  You  shall  teach  me  better  —  " 

"  I  'm  done  wi'  you —  finished,  d'  ye  hear?  " 

"  Also,  I  begin  to  suspect  that  you  are  really  a  little 
annoyed  with  me,  Diana ;  pray,  why  ?  " 

"Ah!    You  know  why!" 

*'  Then  be  generous  and  try  to  forgive  me !  " 

By  this  time  we  had  reached  a  little  wood  where  flowed 
a  stream,  its  murmurous  waters  brimful  of  sunset  glory; 
and  here,  as  by  common  consent,  we  paused  a  while  to 
look  down  at  this  reflected  splendour,  and  when  at  last  she 
spoke,  her  voice  was  gentle,  almost  pleading. 

"  The  duck  was  —  only  a  duck,  Peregrine." 

"  Yes  ! "  said  I. 

"  And  we  were  hungry  —  you  know  you  were  ?  " 

"Very  hungry,  Diana." 

"  And  the  —  the  three  guineas  as  I  —  finds  in  —  that 
Least's  pocket  did  us  more  good  than  it  could  ha'  done 
him?" 

"  True,  Diana." 

"  And  I  only  took  it  because  it  —  it  was  there  to  take 

—  and  might  be  useful.    But  now  we  —  we  don't  need  it  any 
more  —  I  don't,  so  —  there  it  goes  !  "    And  with  a  sudden 
gesture  she  cast  into  the  brook  a  handful  of  coins,  among 
which  I  caught  the  sheen  of  gold  and  silver.     "But  I  — 
I  ain't  a  thief  —  I  'm  not !  "  she  cried  passionately.     "  I 
never  stole  anything  all  my  days;  I  —  I  only  —  prig  — 
Here,  acting  on   sudden  impulse,  I  caught  her  hand  to 
my  lips. 

"  O  Diana,"  said  1,  "  dear  child,  it  is  in  my  mind  you 
will  never  prig  again,  either  —  " 

"But  I  shall  —  I  know  I  shall!"  she  cried,  a  little 
wildly,  but  yielding  her  hand  to  my  lips.  "Yes,  I  know 

—  I'm  sure  I  shall,  Peregrine,  and  what  should  you  do 
then?" 


198  Peregrine's  Progress 

"  Grieve,  child !  " 

"  Look ! "  she  whispered  suddenly,  bending  to  stare 
down  into  the  glory  of  the  brook,  "  O  Peregrine  —  do  you 
see  it?"  From  the  stream  she  pointed  upward  to  the 
radiant  heaven  where,  immediately  above  us,  sailed  a  small, 
curiously-shaped  cloud.  "Do  you  see  it,  Peregrine?" 

"  Only  a  little,  golden  cloud,  Diana." 

"  It  is  —  the  *  Hand  of  Glory,'  "  she  whispered. 

"What  is  it  —  what  does  it  mean?" 

"It  means,  Peregrine,  it  means  that  you — that  I  — 
oh,  you  must  find  out ! "  And  snatching  her  hand  from 
mine,  she  fled  from  me  into  the  wood. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

JUNO    VERSUS   DIANA 

I  WAS  busily  engaged  blowing  the  bellows  of  the  Tinker's 
small,  portable  forge;  besides  the  making  and  mending  of 
kettles,  pots,  pans  and  the  like,  it  seems  he  was  a  skilful 
smith  also,  able  to  turn  his  hand  from  shoeing  a  horse  to 
fashioning  such  diverse  implements  as  the  rustic  com- 
munity had  need  of,  for  beside  the  forge  lay  a  pile  of  bill- 
hooks, axe-heads,  sickle-blades  and  the  like,  finished  or  in 
the  making. 

So  I  blew  the  fire,  wielded  the  heavy  sledge-hammer  or 
stood  absorbed  to  watch  the  deft  strokes  of  his  ham- 
mer draw  out,  bend  and  shape  the  glowing  steel,  though 
turning  very  often  to  behold  Diana  sitting  near  by,  her 
quick  hands  busied  upon  the  construction  of  her  baskets 
of  rush  or  peeled  willow:  thus  despite  the  heat  of  the  fire, 
the  sulphurous  names  and  the  smoke-grime  that  besmirched 
me,  I  laboured  joyously  and  swung  the  ponderous  sledge 
more  vigorously  for  the  knowledge  that  her  bright  eyes 
were  often  raised  to  watch  me  at  my  work. 

Thus  bellows  roared  and  hammers  rang  until  the  sun 
was  high  and  the  Tinker,  returning  the  half-forged  bill- 
hook to  the  fire,  straightened  his  back  and  wiped  the  sweat 
from  sooty  brow  with  sooty  hand. 

"  We  shall  make  a  tidy  smith  of  him  yet,  eh  Anna?  " 

"In  time  —  with  patience!"  she  nodded. 

"  The  question  is  —  wages.  What  ought  us  to  pay  him, 
Ann?" 

"Nothing! "said  I. 

"  Five  shillings,"  said  Diana. 

"  Good,  we  '11  make  it  seven  shillings  a  week  to  begin 
wi',"  quoth  the  Tinker,  and  whipping  the  glowing  bill  from 
the  fire,  he  clapped  it  on  the  anvil  and  at  sign  from  him 
I  whirled  up  the  sledge  and  brought  it  down  with  resound- 


200  Peregrine's  Progress 

ing  clank,  which  he  followed  with  two  blows  from  his 
lighter  hammer,  and  we  fell  to  it  merrily,  thus:  Clang  — 
chink,  chink!  Clang  —  chink,  chink!  While  with  every 
stroke  the  bill  took  on  form  and  semblance,  growing  more 
ami  more  into  what  a  billhook  should  be. 

"A  good  thick  steak,  I  think  you  said,  Anna?"  en- 
quired the  Tinker,  while  I  blew  the  fire  for  the  next  heat. 

"  And  fried  onions,  Jerry." 

"  Steak  an'  onions  ! "  he  exclaimed,  rolling  his  eyes  ecstat- 
ically. "  Did  ye  hear  that,  Perry  ?  And  to  make  good 
vittles  better,  there  's  nowt  like  smithing !  The  only  thing 

agin'    steak    an'    onions    is    that    there 's    never    enough 
•        | ,, 

"  There  will  be  this  time !  "  said  Diana,  with  another  nod. 

"  D'  ye  hear  that,  Perry?    Lord,  I  am  that  ravenous !  " 

"  But  't  is  scarce  twelve  o'clock  yet,  Jerry." 

"Are  you  hungry,  friend  Peregrine?" 

"  I  always  am,  lately." 

"  Poor  Perry  's  hungry  likewise,  Ann !  Come,  what  of 
it?" 

"  You  must  wait  till  dinner  time." 

"  Which  is  when  a  man  's  hungry  —  or  should  be.  Come, 
lass,  famishin'  an'  faintin'  away  we  be ! " 

Laughing,  Diana  rose  and  crossed  the  glade  to  where, 
screened  among  leafy  thickets,  stood  cart  and  tent. 

"  Now  as  regards  paying  me  wages,  Jerry,"  I  began, 
then  stopped  and  caught  my  breath  suddenly,  for  Diana 
was  singing. 

Yet  could  this  indeed  be  Diana's  voice  —  these  soft, 
sweet,  rippling  notes  mounting  in  silvery  trills  so  purely 
sweet,  swelling  gloriously  until  the  whole  wood  seemed  full 
of  the  wonder  of  it,  and  I  spellbound  by  this  simple,  oft- 
heard  air,  but  which,  sung  thus  and  thus  glorified,  touched 
me  to  awed  delight. 

"  Aha !  "  exclaimed  the  Tinker,  as  the  liquid  notes  died 
away.  "  She  can  sing  when  she 's  happy.  Jessamy  says 
there's  a  fortun'  in  her  voice  —  "  But  I  was  off  and  across 
the  glade  and  next  moment  standing  before  her. 


Juno  versus  Diana  201 

"  Why  —  Diana !  "  I  exclaimed.     "  O  Diana !  " 

"What  is  it?"  she  demanded,  glancing  up  from  the 
onion  she  was  peeling. 

"Why  have  I  never  heard  you  sing  before?  Why  do 
you  sing  so  seldom  ?  " 

"  Because  I  only  sing  when  —  when  I  feel  like  it  and  to 
please  myself." 

"  Your  voice  is  wonderful !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  We  will 
have  it  cultivated;  you  shall  be  one  of  the  world's  great 
singers,  you  shall  —  " 

"  Don't  be  silly ! "  she  exclaimed,  flushing. 

"  But  I  tell  you  your  voice  .is  one  in  ten  thousand !  " 

"  And  this  onion  is  one  of  six,  so  take  a  knife  and  help 
me  with  'em,  'stead  of  talking  foolish  —  only  go  wash  first ; 
you  're  black  as  a  sweep." 

"  Gladly,"  said  I,  "  if  you  will  sing  again." 

"  Nobody  can  sing  and  peel  onions  —  they  make  your 
eyes  run." 

"Why,  then,  let  me—" 

"  Hush !  "  she  exclaimed  suddenly. 

"What  is  it?" 

"  Strangers  coming  —  listen ! "  And  presently  I  heard 
it  too,  a  rustle  of  leaves,  crackling  of  twigs,  voices  and 
jingling  spurs,  coming  nearer.  Then  as  I  rose  with  a 
premonition  of  approaching  fate,  forth  into  the  clearing 
stepped  my  uncle  George,  my  uncle  Jervas  and  my  aunt 
Julia.  She  was  dressed  for  riding  and  carried  the  skirt 
of  her  close-fitting  habit  across  her  arm,  and  never  had  she 
looked  handsomer  nor  more  magnificently  statuesque  as 
she  stood,  her  noble  figure  proudly  erect,  all  potent  fem- 
ininity from  feathered  hat  to  dainty,  firm-planted  riding 
boots. 

My  lips  were  opening  in  glad  welcome,  I  had  taken  a 
quick  step  forward,  when  her  words  arrested  me. 

"  George  Vereker ! "  she  exclaimed,  with  a  waft  of  her 
jewelled  riding  switch  towards  Diana  and  myself,  "O  Sir 
Jervas,  is  it  with  such  dreadful  creatures  as  these  that  you 
have  doomed  my  poor,  delicately  nurtured  Peregrine  to 


2O2  Peregrine's  Progress 

consort?  Aye,  well  may  you  grow  purple,  George,  and 
you  turn  your  back  in  shame,  Jervas,  to  behold  thus  the 
degrading  company  — 

But  here,  waiting  for  no  more,  I  started  forward,  and 
halting  within  a  yard  of  my  aunt,  I  laid  grimy  hand  upon 
grimy  shirt-bosom  and  bowed. 

"  Dear  Aunt  Julia,  I  rejoice  to  see  you ! "  said  I. 

For  a  long  moment  my  aunt  gazed  on  me  with  eyes  of 
horrified  bewilderment  then,  all  at  once,  she  dropped  her 
riding-switch  and,  gasping  my  name,  sank  into  the  ready 
arms  of  my  uncle  George,  who  promptly  began  to  fan  her 
vigorously  with  his  hat,  while  my  uncle  Jervas,  lounging 
gracefully  against  a  tree,  surveyed  me  through  his  single 
glass  and  I  saw  his  grim  lips  twitch. 

"  Tell  me  I  dream,  George !  "  wailed  aunt  Julia.  "  Say 
it  is  a  horrid  vision  and  make  me  happy." 

"  It  is,  Julia,  it  is ! "  said  my  uncle  Jervas.  "  And  yet, 
upon  me  soul,  'tis  a  vision  that  grows  upon  me;  observe 
the  set  of  the  shoulders,  the  haughty  cock  o'  the  head,  the 
determined  jut  of  the  chin;  yes,  Julia,  despite  rags  and 
dirt,  I  recognise  Peregrine  as  a  true  Vereker  for  the  first 
time."  Saying  which,  my  uncle  Jervas  very  deliberately 
drew  on  his  riding  glove  and  stepping  up  to  me,  caught 
and  shook  my  hand  or  ever  I  guessed  his  intention. 

"  Uncle  —  O  Uncle  Jervas !  "  I  exclaimed  and  stooped 
my  head  lest  he  should  see  the  tears  in  my  eyes. 

"By  Gad,  Julia  —  sweet  soul,"  exclaimed  my  uncle 
George.  "Jervas  is  exactly  right,  d'  ye  see?  Perry  may 
look  a  —  a  what 's-a-name  vision,  but  he's  a  Vereker  for 
all  that  —  lad  o'  spirit  —  beautiful  pair  o'  black  eyes, 
though  you  can't  see  'em  for  dirt  —  " 

My  aunt  moaned  feebly. 

"But  dirt,  my  dear  soul,  dirt  won't  harm  him,  nor 
black  eyes  —  do  him  good,  d'  ye  see,  do  him  a  world  o' 
good,  doing  him  good  every  minute — " 

"  Enough,  George  Vereker !  "  exclaimed  my  aunt  in  her 
terrible  voice,  and  freed  herself  from  his  hold  like  an  of- 
fended goddess.  "  O  heaven,  I  might  have  known  that 


Juno  versus  Diana  203 

you,  George,  would  have  abetted  my  poor,  wilful  boy  in  his 
dirt  and  bodily  viciousness,  and  that  you,  Jervas,  would 
have  condoned  his  turpitude  and  moral  degradation. 
None  the  less,  though  you  both  desert  me  in  this  dreadful 
hour,  shirking  your  duty  thus  shamelessly,  this  woman's 
hand  shall  pluck  my  dear,  loved  nephew  from  the  abyss, 
this  hand  —  "  Here,  turning  to  behold  me,  my  poor  aunt 
shivered,  gasped  and  setting  dainty  handkerchief  to  her 
eyes,  bowed  noble  head  and  wept  grandly  as  a  grieving 
goddess  might  have  done. 

"  O  Peregrine,"  she  moaned  from  this  dainty  mystery, 
"  O  rash  boy  —  to  have  sunk  to  this  —  sordid  misery  — 
rags  —  dirt !  You  that  were  wont  to  shudder  at  a  splash 
of  mud  and  now  —  O  kind  heaven  —  grimed  like  a  dreadful 
collier  and  I  think  —  yes,  O  shameless  youth,  actually 
smiling  through  it  —  " 

"  And  why  not,  mj  dear  creature?  "  sighed  uncle  Jervas. 
"  Dirt  is  of  many  kinds  and  Peregrine's  is  at  least  honest 
and  healthy  —  " 

"  Cease,  Sir  Jervas,  I  pray ! "  cried  my  aunt  with  a 
flash  of  her  fine  black  eyes.  "  Nevermore  will  I  heed  your 
perfidious  counsels,  nor  the  fatuous  maunderings  of  grace- 
less George.  There  stands  my  poor,  misguided  Peregrine 
—  an  object  for  angels  to  weep  over,  an  innocent  but  a 
little  while  since  —  but  now  —  now,  alas  —  and  you  — 
both  of  you  his  undoing !  " 

"  Pardon  me,  dear  Aunt,"  said  I  hastily,  "  but  there 
you  are  in  error  and  do  a  monstrous  injustice  to  my  two 
generous  uncles.  Allow  me  to  reiterate  the  statement  I 
set  down  in  my  letter,  that  I  left  Merivale  and  you  of  my 
own  accord;  indeed  my  uncles  would  have  stayed  me,  but 
I  was  determined  to  be  gone  for  your  sake,  their  sake  and 
my  own.  Indeed,  Aunt,  so  deep  is  my  affection  that  I 
would  see  you  truly  happy,  and  knowing  the  deep  and  — 
and  honourable  sentiments  my  uncles  have  for  you,  I  —  I 
dreamed  that  they  —  that  you  —  that  one  of  them  might 
have  won  your  hand  and  —  and  you  find  that  happiness 
which  you  have  denied  yourself  on  my  account." 


204  Peregrine's  Progress 

"  Misguided  boy ! "  murmured  my  aunt,  lovely  eyes 
abased,  "Come,  dear  Peregrine,  doubtless  one  of  your 
uncles  can  find  you  a  cloak  to  —  to  veil  you  from  the 
curious  vulgar  —  only  let  us  be  going,  pray." 

"  Dear  Aunt  —  where?  " 

**  Back  to  Merivale,  to  your  books,  your  paintings  and 
my  loving  care." 

"  Not  yet,  Aunt.  Ah,  pray  do  not  misunderstand  me, 
but  when  I  set  out,  it  was  with  the  purpose  of  doing  better 
things  than  penning  indifferent  verse,  or  painting  futile 
pictures  —  " 

"Peregrine  —  nephew  —  do  I  hear  aright?" 

"  You  do,  Aunt.  I  came  out  into  the  world  to  open  the 
greatest  book  of  all  —  the  book  of  Life  —  to  try  to  meet 
and  know  men  and  learn  some  day,  perhaps,  to  be  a  man 
also  and  one  you  can  honour.  Instead  of  reading  the 
actions  of  others,  I  intend  to  act  a  little  myself  —  " 

"  Peregrine  —  cease !  " 

"  And  so,  dear  Aunt,  here  I  stay  until  I  can  return  to 
you  feeling  that  I  have  achieved  something  worthy  my 
sex  and  name." 

"Peregrine,  come  with  me  —  I  command  you!  " 

"Then,  dearest  Aunt,  with  all  the  humility  possible,  I 
fear  I  must  disobey  you." 

My  aunt  Julia  drew  herself  to  her  stately  height,  set- 
ting her  indomitable  chin  at  me,  and  into  her  eyes  came 
that  coercive  expression  which  resurrected  the  memory  of 
childish  sins  of  omission  and  commission,  an  expression 
before  which  my  new-found  hardihood  wilted  and  drooped ; 
but  in  this  desperate  moment  I  glanced  at  Diana,  and, 
meeting  the  calm  serenity  of  her  untroubled  gaze,  I  folded 
my  arms  and,  bowing  my  head,  awaited  the  deluge  with 
what  fortitude  I  might  and,  in  the  awful  stillness,  heard 
uncle  George's  spurs  jingle  distressfully. 

"  You  mean  that  —  you  —  will  —  not  —  come  ?  "  she 
demanded. 

"  I  do,  dear  Aunt." 

"  That  you  actually  —  disobey  me  ?  " 


Juno  versus  Diana  205 

"Dear  Aunt  — I  do!" 

"  Pray,  who  is  the  young  person  I  notice  behind  you?  " 

"Person,  Aunt?" 

"The  young  woman — the  wild,  gipsy-looking  creature." 

"  Ah,  pray  forgive  me  —  I  should  have  introduced  you 
before.  Diana,  this  is  my  aunt,  Lady  Julia  Conroy  — 
Aunt,  this  is  my  friend  Diana." 

"And  pray  what  is  she  doing  here?" 

"  She  is  about  to  cook  a  steak  and  onions  —  " 

"Do  you  mean  —  O  pitiful  heaven — that  she  is  — 
living  here  with  —  " 

"  With  Jeremy  Jarvis,  a  tinker,  Jessamy  Todd,  a 
champion  pugilist,  and  myself." 

"  Shocking ! "  exclaimed  my  aunt,  sweeping  Diana  with 
the  fire  of  her  disparaging  regard. 

"Moreover,  dear  Aunt,"  I  continued,  stung  by  some- 
thing in  her  attitude,  "  it  is  my  hope  to  make  myself  suf- 
ficiently worthy  to  win  Diana  in — in  marriage!" 

"Marriage?"  repeated  my  aunt  in  a  hoarse  whisper. 
"I  dream!  Marriage?  With  a  wild  woman!  George! 
Jervas  !  "  she  gasped  in  strange,  breathless  fashion.  "  Our 
poor  boy  is  either  mad  —  or  worse,  and  whichever  it 
prove,  it  is  all  your  doing !  I  hope,  I  sincerely  hope,  you 
are  satisfied  with  your  handiwork !  As  for  you,  you  poor 
young  woman,"  she  continued,  turning  on  Diana  in  pas- 
sionate appeal,  "  if  my  nephew  is  mad,  be  you  sane  enough 
to  know  that  such  a  marriage  would  drag  him  to  perdition 
and  bring  you  only  misery  and  shame  in  the  long  run. 
Give  up  my  poor,  distracted  nephew  and  I  will  be  your 
friend.  If  it  is  money  you  require  —  " 

Diana  laughed : 

"  My  lady,  an'  if  you  please,  ma'm,"  said  she,  curtsey- 
ing, finger  beneath  dimpled  chin,  "I  ain't  your  young 
woman  an'  by  your  leave,  ma'm,  never  could  be,  because, 
though  I  don't  love  Mr.  Peregrine,  I  can't  abide  you,  ma'm. 
When  I  wants  money,  being  only  a  gipsy  mort,  I  works 
for  it  or  prigs  it.  So  I  don't  want  your  money,  thanking 
you  kindly,  ma'm,  and  I  don't  want  your  nephew,  so  you 


206  Peregrine's  Progress 

may  take  him  and  willing.  An'  I  don't  want  your  friend- 
j.liip  or  help,  because  I  likes  loneliness  and  the  Silent  Places 
better.  So  take  your  precious  nephew,  ma'm,  and  when 
you  get  liim  safe  home,  wash  him  an'  keep  him  in  a  glass 
case ;  't  is  what  he  's  best  fitted  for.  But  watch  him,  lady, 
lock  him  up  secure,  because  I  think  —  I  know  —  I  could 
whistle  him  away  from  you  whenever  I  would  —  back, 
ma'm,  back  to  me  and  the  Silent  Places.  And  so  good-day, 
ma'm,,  my  best  respects ! "  Saying  which,  Diana  curtseyed 
again  and  turned  away. 

"  The  creature !  "  exclaimed  my  aunt.  "  The  minx ! 
The  insolent  baggage!"  And  she  stepped  proudly  for- 
ward, an  angry  goddess,  the  jewelled  switch  quivering. 

"  Stop,  lady ! "  said  Diana,  throwing  out  a  shapely 
arm  with  gesture  so  imperious  that  my  aunt  stood  staring 
and  amazed.  "  Stop,  ma'm  —  don't  forget  as  you  're  a 
great  lady  and  I  'm  only  a  gipsy  mort  as  could  tear  you 
in  pieces  for  all  your  size!  To  spoil  them  fine  eyes  would 
be  pity,  to  pull  that  long  hair  out  would  be  shame,  so 
don't  use  your  whip,  lady  —  don't !  "  Having  said  which, 
she  turned  and  walked  serenely  away. 

"  A  most  dreadful  young  person ! "  exclaimed  my  aunt. 
"  See  from  what  calamitous  evils  I  have  snatched  you,  dear 
Peregrine.  Come,  let  us  be  going.  I  have  William  with 
your  mare,  but  seeing  you  cannot  ride  as  you  are,  we  will 
take  a  chaise." 

But  folding  my  arms,  I  shook  my  head. 

"  What  —  O  boy,  what  does  this  mean?  " 

"  It  means,  dear  Aunt,  that  I  love  the  Silent  Places  too  !'* 

"  But  Peregrine,  you  will  not  desert  me  now —  now  that 
I  have  found  you  —  you  will  not  —  cannot !  Ah,  come 
back.  Peregrine ! "  she  cried,  deep  bosom  resurgent,  arms 
outstretched  and  eyes  dim  with  unshed  tears. 

"  Dear  Aunt,  it  is  impossible ! "  I  mumbled.  "  Loving 
you  as  I  do,  yet  must  I  leave  you  a  while,  foregoing  the 
tender  shelter  of  your  love  for — for  —  " 

"Dirt  and  misery!"  she  broke  in.  "The  shameful 
allurement  of  a  sly  minx,  an  unspeakable  —  " 


Juno  versus  Diana  207 

"  Madam !  "  I  cried,  "  have  done !  You  shame  your- 
self and  me!  It  has  been  my  good  fortune  to  have  fallen 
in  with  honest  people  with  whom  I  shall  remain  awhile, 
enduring  their  lot,  living  their  life  and  by  their  brave 
patience  learn  fortitude,  and  their  proud  humility  shall  in 
time,  I  hope,  teach  me  the  duties  of  a  gentleman  —  " 

"  v.ly  poor,  distraught  Peregrine !  "  she  sighed.  "  My, 
poor,  poor  boy.  So  thus  I  leave  you  because  I  must.  But 
some  day,  when  your  stubborn  will  is  broken,  when  your 
proud  head  is  bowed  with  grief  and  shame,  come  back, 
dear  prodigal,  come  back,  and  you  shall  find  these  arms 
outstretched  in  eager  welcome,  this  solitary  heart  still 
open  to  shelter  and  protect.  Farewell,  my  Peregrine  — 
I  go  to  weep  and  pray  for  you  in  the  night  silences. 
George  —  Jervas,  lead  me  hence ! " 

Now  as  I  stood,  my  eyes  smarting  with  tears  evoked  by 
her  last  words,  my  uncles  tendered  their  arms  with  grave 
and  ready  courtesy,  but  in  that  moment  as  I  watched  in 
a  silent  grief  conjured  up  by  my  aunt's  last  words,  the 
keen  glance  of  uncle  Jervas  met  mine  for  one  brief  mo- 
ment and,  in  that  space,  his  right  eyelid  flickered  un- 
mistakably; then  uncle  George  coughed  explosively  and 
at  the  same  instant  tossed  something  to  the  foot  of  a  tree ; 
coming  thither,  I  took  up  a  well-filled  leathern  wallet  and 
a  heavy  purse;  with  these,  my  uncles'  parting  benefac- 
tions in  my  hands,  what  wonder  that  I  saw  their  retreating 
forms  through  a  mist  of  tears. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

EXEMPLIFYING  THAT  CLOTHES  DO  MAKE  THE  MAN 

"  THE  Rubicon,"  said  the  Tinker,  "  the  Rubicon  is  a  river 
as  no  Roman  ever  crossed  without  doo  thought.  '  The 
die,'  as  Julius  Caesar  remarked  when  he  crossed  it,  *  the 
die  is  cast ! '  Friend  Peregrine,  you  ha'  sent  away  your 
lady  aunt  a-grieving,  poor  ma'm,  and  your  fine  gentlemen 
uncles  likewise,  and  consequently  what  I  asks  is  —  what 
now?" 

"  Clothes !  "  said  I.  "  This  afternoon  let  us  drive  into 
Tonbridge,  find  a  tailor,  get  rid  of  these  atrocities  and 
afterwards  sup  at  some  cosy  inn." 

"  Your  gentlefolk  brought  you  money  then  ?  " 

"  They  did,"  said  I,  and  laying  by  my  platter,  I  drew 
from  my  breeches  pockets  the  wallet  of  my  uncle  Jervas 
and  uncle  George's  purse. 

"  Ha ! "  exclaimed  the  Tinker,  rubbing  his  long  chin 
with  the  haft  of  his  knife.  "  How  much?  " 

"  We  will  investigate,"  said  I,  and  opening  the  wallet, 
I  discovered  the  sum  of  thirty  pounds  in  gold  and  notes 
and  a  carefully  folded  missive  with  these  words : 

'If  you  wish  to  tinker,  Peregrine,  tinker  like  a  gentle- 
man. If  you  must  make  love,  do  it  like  a  Vereker,  that 
is  to  say,  a  man  of  honour.' 

"  My  soul ! "  exclaimed  the  Tinker,  round  of  eye. 

In  uncle  George's  purse  were  twenty  guineas  with  a 
crumpled  paper  bearing  this  scrawl, 

'  More  when  you  want  it,  Perry  lad. ' 

"  Lord  love  me ! "  exclaimed  the  Tinker,  staring  at  the 
money  I  had  placed  on  the  grass  between  us.  "  It 's  a 
fine  thing  to  have  uncles  —  rich  'uns.  What  d'  you  think, 
Ann?" 

"  That  you  'd  better  eat  your  dinner  while  it 's  hot." 

"But  —  fifty  pound,  Ann!     Never  saw  so  much  money 


That  Clothes  Do  Make  the  Man     209 

all  at  once  in  my  life  —  an'  all  gold  an'  bank  notes,  nothing 
s'  common  as  silver  or  copper  —  Lord !  Fifty  pound !  " 

"  Divided  by  four  is  exactly  twelve  pounds  ten  shillings," 
said  I,  and  counting  out  this  sum,  I  thrust  it  into  the 
Tinker's  hand. 

"  Eh  —  what  —  why,  why,  what 's  this  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Your  share,"  I  answered. 

"  But  why  —  what  for?  " 

"  Because  we  are  friends  and  comrades,  I  hope,  and  ac- 
cording to  the  rules  of  the  Brotherhood  of  the  Roadside 
as  expounded  by  you,  '  those  that  have,  give  to  those  that 
have  n't  —  it  would  be  a  poor  world  else.' " 

"  No,  no  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  no,  no,  can't  be  done  —  I 
think  ye  mean  kindly,  but  it  won't  do." 

"  But  why  not?  "  I  demanded. 

"  Because  no  man  as  is  a  man  takes  money  unless  he  's 
earned  it  or  lent  it,  or  happens  to  be  starving  — " 

"  Nor  woman  either !  "  said  Diana. 

"  Very  well !  "  quoth  I,  a  little  ruefully,  cramming  the 
money  back  into  my  pockets.  "  Then  perhaps  you  will 
come  to  Tonbridge  and  help  me  to  spend  it  ?  " 

"  I  would  wi'  j  'y,  but  there  's  my  work  —  ask  Ann, 
she  '11  go  wi'  you." 

"  I  'm  busy,  too ! "  said  she,  whereupon  I  turned  and 
strode  off  in  high  dudgeon.  But  presently  she  overtook 
me,  "Don't  you  think  you'd  better  wash  first?"  she  en- 
quired. At  this  I  stopped,  for  I  had  clean  forgotten  my 
grime. 

"  Why  should  I  trouble  to  wash?  How  can  it  matter  to 
you?  " 

"  Not  much,  Peregrine,  but  you  look  a  little  better  with 
a  clean  face  and  we  shall  likely  meet  plenty  o'  folk  —  " 

"  Do  you  mean  you  will  come  with  me?  " 

"  Yes,  Peregrine." 

"  Then  I  '11  wash." 

"  Yes,  I  brought  you  the  soap  and  towel."  So  we  came 
to  the  brook  where  she  sat  to  watch  while  I  performed 
my  so  necessary  ablutions. 


2io  Peregrine's  Progress 

"I  have  no  wish  to  hinder  your  work,"  said  I,  towel- 
ling vigorously. 

"  No,  Peregrine." 

"  And  I  am  quite  able  to  find  my  way  to  Tonbridge 
alone." 

"  Yes,  Peregrine." 

"And  it  is  a  goodish  distance,  so  if  you  would  rather 
not  come,  pray  do  not  trouble." 

"  No,  Peregrine." 

"  Heavens,  girl !  "  I  cried.  "  Cannot  you  say  more  than 
*  yes  and  no,  Peregrine  '  ?  " 

"  Aye,  I  could !  "  she  nodded.  "  I  could  say  you  are  a 
fool  and  a  sight  too  cocksure — and,  oh,  a  lot  more  —  but 
I  won't ! "  with  which  she  rose  and  left  me.  My  toilet 
achieved,  I  returned  to  find  Jerry  busy  harnessing  Diog- 
enes, the  pony. 

"  For  if  you  'm  a-going,  Peregrine,  you  may  as  well  do 
the  marketing,  and  there 's  a  mort  o'  stores  to  bring  back. 
Besides,  Anna  can  take  her  baskets  t'  sell,  d'  ye  see." 

So  in  a  while,  behold  Diana  throned  on  the  driving  seat, 
reins  in  hand,  while  I  led  Diogenes  up  the  winding,  grassy 
slope  to  the  high  road ;  this  done,  I  climbed  aboard  and  off 
we  swung  for  Tonbridge  town. 

Diogenes  pounded  along  merrily,  the  wheels  creaked 
and  rattled  cheerily,  a  soaring  lark  carolled  joyously 
somewhere  in  the  sunny  air  above  us ;  but  Diana  drove  in 
sullen  silence,  her  face  averted  pertinaciously,  wherefore 
I  scowled  before  me  and  kept  silence  also ;  thus  Diogenes, 
wheels  and  lark  had  it  all  to  themselves.  And  when  we 
had  driven  thus  some  distance  I  spoke : 

"You  are  a  very  bright  and  cheery  companion  this 
afternoon ! " 

At  this  she  jerked  her  shoulder  at  me  with  a  petulant 
gesture. 

"  Indeed,"  said  I,  "  it  is  a  great  wonder  that  you 
troubled  to  come  with  me  —  " 

"  I  've  my  baskets  to  sell ! "  she  retorted  in  her  most 
ungracious  manner. 


That  Clothes  Do  Make  the  Man     211 

"  Why  are  you  so  changed  to  me  ?  "  I  questioned.  "  Are 
you  still  angry  about  that  unfortunate  business  of  the 
mirror,  or  is  it  because  I  kissed  you,  or  —  " 

"Ah  — don't  talk  of  it!"  she  cried  fiercely.  "No 
man  's  ever  kissed  me  so  before  —  on  the  mouth  —  " 

"  Thank  heaven !  "  said  I. 

"  I  hate  ye  for  it  and  her  most  of  all ! " 

"'Her',  Diana?     Whom  do  you  mean?" 

"  Your  fine  lady  aunt !  " 

"But,  good  heaven!  What  had  my  aunt  Julia  to  do 
with  it?" 

"I  don't  care!  I  hate  her  —  with  her  great,  proud  eyes 
and  haughty  ways  —  and  offering  me  money  an'  all  —  " 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  it  was  wrong  of  her  to  attempt  to  bribe 
you—" 

"  You  did  as  much  once  —  only  it  was  your  watch,  so 
don't  you  talk !  I  suppose  my  lady  thinks  I  'm  after  you 
for  your  money.  Oh,  I  wish  t'  God  I'd  never  seen  you! 
And  I  shan't  much  longer  —  " 

"  Ah,  do  you  mean  that  you  will  attempt  to  run  away?  " 
I  demanded.  But  Diana  merely  stared  sullenly  at  the 
road  before  us.  "  This  would  be  very,  very  wrong,  Diana, 
very  cruel  and  very  wicked  because,  according  to  the  laws 
of  the  Folk,  you  are  already  my  wife." 

"  But  not  according  to  the  Church.  You  said  so  —  an' 
you  ain't  of  the  Folk ! " 

"  But  I  might  turn  gipsy  —  others  have  done  so." 

"Aye,  but  not  your  kind;  you're  best  wi'  your  fine 
aunt  to  coddle  you  —  go  back  to  your  grand  house  en* 
servants,  young  man,  and  stay  there !  " 

"  Some  day,  but  not  yet,"  I  answered.  "  And  when  I 
go  —  you  will  go  with  me." 

"  Oh,  shall  I ! "  she  exclaimed  scornfully.  "  You  're 
precious  sure  of  yourself,  ain't  you?  " 

"  I  am ! "  I  nodded,  folding  my  arms.  "  And  of  one 
other  thing ! " 

"What?" 

"  That  you  will  make  a  very  ill-tempered  wife! " 


212  Peregrine's  Progress 

"  Oh,  shall  I !  " 

"  You  will." 

"  Not  your  'n,  anyway.     You  ain't  man  enough." 

*'  We  shall  see !  "  said  I  between  shut  teeth. 

"  Aha,  now  you  're  angry !  "  she  laughed  gleefully,  and 
with  some  little  malice. 

"  You  are  enough  to  enrage  a  saint ! "  I  retorted,  and 
turning  my  back,  I  bore  with  her  gibes  and  fleerings  as 
patiently  as  I  might  nor  deigned  her  further  notice,  so 
that  in  a  little  she  became  mute  also ;  and  thus  at  last  we 
reached  Tonbridge.  Scarcely  were  we  in  the  High  Street 
than,  not  waiting  for  Diana  to  draw  rein,  I  leapt  from  the 
cart  with  such  precipitation  that  I  tripped  awkwardly 
and  rolled,  grovelling,  in  the  dust.  Scrambling  hastily 
to  my  feet,  I  saw  she  had  pulled  up  and  was  eyeing  me  a 
little  anxiously,  but  her  voice  was  sullen  as  ever  when  she 
spoke. 

"Are  ye  hurt?"  she  questioned  ungraciously. 

"  Thank  you  —  no !  "  I  answered,  brushing  the  dust 
from  my  bruised  knees. 

"  All  right ! "  she  nodded,  "  I  '11  meet  ye  in  the  yard  at 
'  The  Chequers  '  —  half-past  four !  "  and  away  she  drove 
without  so  much  as  one  backward  glance. 

The  place  was  busy  by  reason  of  the  fair,  the 
wide  roadway  thronged  with  vehicles,  and  as  I  edged  my 
way  along  the  narrow,  crowded  pavements  gay  with  chintz 
and  muslin  gowns,  polished  boots,  flowered  waistcoats 
and  the  rest  of  it,  I  felt  myself  a  blot  and  blemish,  a  thing 
to  be  viewed  askance  by  this  cheery  crowd  in  its  holiday 
attire.  A  short-legged  man  in  a  white  hat  roared  at  me 
to  hold  his  horse;  a  plump  and  benevolent  old  lady  ear- 
nestly sought  to  bestow  upon  me  twopence  in  charity,  but 
I  paid  no  heed  and  began  to  seek  eagerly  for  a  tailor 
where  I  might  exchange  my  sorry  garments  for  things 
less  poverty-stricken. 

And  presently,  to  my  great  relief,  I  beheld  a  shop 
above  whose  crystal  window  panes  was  a  sign  with  this 
inscription : 


That  Clothes  Do  Make  the  Man     213 
VAUGHAN 

TAILOR  &  SARTORIAL  ARTIST 

To  The 
NOBILITY  &  GENTRY 

In  this  window  was  displayed  cloth  of  every  kind  and 
colour,  together  with  framed  pictures  of  stiff-limbed 
young  gentlemen  in  most  trying  and  uncomfortable  pos- 
tures and  clad  in  garments  innocent  of  crease  or  wrinkle. 

Incontinent  I  lifted  the  latch  and  entered  the  shop  to 
behold  a  stout  young  gentleman  contorting  himself  hor- 
ribly in  a  vain  endeavour  to  regard  the  small  of  his  back. 

"  There !  "  he  gasped.  "  The  breeches !  Told  you  they 
were  too  tight  —  I  heard  'em  crack  —  they  're  too  infernal 
tight,  I  tell  ye !  " 

"Oh,  dear  me,  impossible,  sir!"  sighed  a  pale,  long- 
visaged  person,  flourishing  a  tape-measure.  "A  gent's 
breeches  can't  be  too  tight;  the  tighter  they  are  the  more 
ton!  Indeed,  tight  breeches,  sir,  are  —  What 's  for  you, 
my  lad?  "  he  enquired,  catching  sight  of  me. 

"  I  desire  to  purchase  a  suit  of  clothes." 

"  Oh,  dear  me  —  no,  no ! "  sighed  the  long-visaged 
person.  "  Not  here,  lad,  not  here !  We  build  garments 
for  gentlemen  only,  no  ready-made  goods  here;  we  deal 
strictly  with  the  nobility  and  gentry  of  the  county  —  go 
away,  lad,  go  away !"  Here  he  flapped  his  tape-measure 
at  me,  the  stout  gentleman  stared  at  me,  and  I  crept  forth 
into  the  street  again  among  the  dainty,  sprigged  gowns 
and  high-collared  coats  amid  which  I  wandered  somewhat 
disconsolate  until  by  chance  my  wandering  gaze  lighted 
upon  a  small,  dingy  shop  in  whose  narrow  window  squatted 
a  small,  humpbacked,  bespectacled  man  plying  needle  and 
thread  with  remarkable  speed  and  dexterity.  It  was  a 
small  shop  but  so  stuffed  and  crammed  with  garments  of 
all  kinds  that  they  had  overflowed  into  the  street,  for  the 
narrow  doorway  was  draped,  choked  and  festooned  with 
coats,  breeches,  pantaloons,  shirts,  waistcoats,  stockings, 
boots,  shoes,  a  riotous  and  apparently  inextricable  tangle. 


214  Peregrine's   Progress 

Into  tliis  small  and  stuffy  shop  I  forced  myself  a  pas- 
sage, whereupon  its  small,  busy  proprietor  glanced  up  at 
me  over  the  rim  of  his  large  spectacles. 

"  Well,  son,  what  d'  ye  lack?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Clothes,  if  you  please,"  said  I  humbly. 

"  And  that 's  no  lie,  neether  —  so  ye  do,  by  James  !  "  he 
nodded. 

"  Can  I  purchase  some?  " 

"  If  you  've  enough  o'  the  rhino,  son." 

For  answer  I  drew  a  bank  note  from  my  pocket  at 
random  and  laid  it  upon  the  small  counter. 

"  You  have,  b'  James ! "  quoth  the  little  man,  "  a  fi'-pun 
note ! "  And  thrusting  needle  into  the  garment  he  was 
making  he  rose  with  brisk  alacrity.  "  What  d'  ye  want 
in  my  way,  son  ?  " 

"  Everything ! "  said  I. 

"  And  here  's  the  place  t'  get  it,  b'  James !  I  Ve  every- 
thing in  clothes  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave  —  infant, 
child,  youth  and  man,  births,  marriages  or  deaths,  'igh- 
days  or  'olydays  —  I  can  fit  ye  with  any  style,  any  size 
and  for  any  age,  occasion  or  re-quirement." 

So  saying,  he  ushered  me  into  a  small  room  behind  the 
shop  where  he  proceeded  to  whisk  forth  a  bewildering 
array  of  garments  for  my  inspection,  until  table  and 
chairs  were  piled  high  and  myself  dazed  with  their  in- 
finite variety. 

"B'    James!"    cried    the   little    man,    blinking,    "I'll 
turn  ye  out  as  nobby  a  little  spark  as  ever  cocked  a  neye 
at    a    sighin'    young    fe-male.      Look    at    this    coat,    the 
roll  o'  this  collar  up  to  your  ears,  and  as  for  buttons  — 
well,  look  at  'em  —  see  'em  flash !    As  for  weskits,  see  'ere, 
son,  climbin*  roses  worked  into  true-lover's  knots  and  all 
pure  silk !    Then  'ere  's  a  pair  o'  pantaloons  as  no  blushin' 
nymp'   could   resist  —  an'   you   shall   'ave  the   lot  —  all, 
an'  ^'11  throw  in  a  ruffled  shirt  —  for  four-pun*  ten  — 
take  'em  or  leave  'em  !  " 

"  Thank  you,  I  think  I  '11  leave  them,"  said  I.  "  My 
desire  is  for  things  a  little  less  ostentatious  —  " 


215 

"  Os-ten  —  ha,  certainly !  Say  no  more,  son,  look 
around  an'  take  y'r  choice  —  " 

At  last,  and  almost  in  spite  of  the  small  tailor,  I  selected 
a  suit  a  little  less  offensive  than  most,  the  which  I  donned 
forthwith  and  found  it  fit  me  none  so  ill;  shirt,  shoes, 
stockings  and  a  hat  completed  my  equipment,  and  though 
the  garments  were  anything  but  elegant,  yet  my  appear- 
ance, so  much  as  I  could  see  of  it  in  the  small,  cracked 
mirror,  was,  on  the  whole,  not  displeasing,  I  thought. 
At  the  tailor's  suggestion  I  purchased  three  extra  shirts, 
as  many  cravats,  stockings  and  a  neckcloth. 

"  And  now,"  said  I,  as  he  tied  up  the  somewhat  un- 
wieldy parcel,  "what  do  I  owe  you?" 

"  Well,  son  —  I  mean,  sir,"  he  answered,  peering  at  me 
over  his  spectacles,  "  them  beautiful  clothes  has  turned 
you  from  nobody  as  matters  into  somebody  as  do;  your 
credit  is  rose  five  hundred,  ah,  a  thousand  per  cent  and 
I  ought  to  charge  ye  a  couple  o'  hundred  guineas,  say  — 
but  seein'  as  you  're  you  an'  I  'm  me  —  let 's  call  it  fi'- 
pun!" 

So  having  paid  the  tailor,  I  bade  him  good  afternoon 
and  strode  forth  into  the  street  and,  though  a  little  con- 
scious of  my  new  clothes  and  somewhat  hampered  by  the 
bulbous  parcel  beneath  my  arm,  felt  myself  no  longer  in 
danger  of  being  roared  at  to  hold  horses  or  proffered 
alms  by  kindly  old  ladies.  I  strolled  along  at  leisurely 
pace,  casting  oblique  and  surreptitious  glances  at  my 
reflection  in  shop  windows,  whereby  I  observed  that  my 
new  garments  fitted  me  better  than  I  had  supposed, 
though  it  seemed  the  hair  curled  beneath  my  hat  brim 
in  too  generous  luxuriance;  so  perceiving  a  barber's  ad- 
jacent, I  entered  and  gave  my  head  to  the  ministrations 
of  a  chatty  soul  whose  tongue  wagged  faster  than  his 
snipping  scissors.  Shorn  of  my  superabundant  locks, 
I  sallied  forth,  and  chancing  upon  a  jeweller's  shop,  I 
entered  and  purchased  a  silver  watch  for  the  Tinker, 
another  for  Jessamy  Todd,  and  lastly  a  gold  locket  and 
chain  for  Diana. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

TELLS  OF  AN  OMINOUS  MEETING 

PBECISELY  upon  the  stroke  of  half-past  four  I  turned 
under  the  arch  of  the  "  Chequers  "  inn  and,  coming  into 
the  yard,  looked  about  for  Diana.  The  place  was  fairly 
a-throng  with  vehicles,  farmers'  gigs,  carts,  curricles  and 
the  like ;  in  one  corner  of  the  long  penthouse  I  espied  the 
Tinker's  cart  with  Diogenes  champing  philosophically  at 
a  truss  of  hay,  but  Diana  herself  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 
Therefore,  having  deposited  my  parcel  in  the  cart  among 
divers  other  packages  (which  I  took  to  be  the  stores 
Jeremy  had  mentioned),  I  seated  myself  in  a  remote  and 
shady  corner  and  glanced  around.  Horses  munched  and 
snorted  all  about  me,  unseen  hostlers  hissed  and  whistled, 
and  a  man  in  a  smart  livery  hung  upon  the  bridles  of  two 
horses  harnessed  to  a  handsome  closed  travelling  carriage, 
blood-horses  that  tossed  proud  heads  and  stamped  impa- 
tient hoofs,  insomuch  that  the  groom  alternately  cursed 
and  coaxed  them,  turning  his  head  ever  and  anon  to  glance 
towards  a  certain  back  door  of  the  inn  with  impatient  ex- 
pectancy. And  thus  it  befell  that  I  began  to  watch  this 
door  also  and  as  the  moments  elapsed  there  waked  within 
me  a  strange  and  bodeful  trembling  eagerness,  a  growing 
anxiety  to  behold  what  manner  of  person  that  door  would 
soon  open  for.  So  altogether  unaccountable  and  dis- 
quieting was  this  feeling  that  I  rose  to  my  feet  and  in 
this  moment  the  door  swung  wide  and  a  man  appeared. 

He  was  tall  and  slim  and  superlatively  well  clad,  his 
garments  of  that  quiet  elegance  which  is  the  mark  of  ex- 
ceeding good  taste;  but  it  was  his  face  that  drew  and 
held  my  gaze,  a  handsome  face,  paler  by  contrast  with  the 
raven  blackness  of  flowing,  curled  hair,  a  delicate-nos- 
trilled,  aquiline  nose,  a  thin-lipped  mouth  and  smooth  jut 
of  pointed  chin.  All  this  I  saw  as  he  stood  as  if  awaiting 


Tells  of  an  Ominous  Meeting      217 

some  one,  half-turned  upon  the  steps,  a  magnificent  and 
shapely  figure,  tapping  impatiently  at  glittering,  be-tas- 
selled  boot  with  slender,  gold-mounted  cane.  And  then  — 
Diana  appeared  and  paused  in  the  doorway  to  stare  up 
at  him  while  he  smiled  down  on  her,  and  I  saw  his  smiling 
lips  move  in  soft  speech  as,  with  a  hateful  and  assured 
deliberation,  his  white  fingers  closed  upon  her  round,  sun- 
burned arm  and  he  gestured  gracefully  towards  the  car- 
riage with  his  cane. 

"  Ah,  damn  you  —  stand  off ! "  I  cried,  and  clenching 
my  fists  I  sprang  forward,  raging.  As  I  came  he  swung 
about  to  meet  me,  the  slender  cane  quivering  in  his  grip, 
and  thus  for  a  moment  we  faced  each  other.  And  now 
I  saw  he  was  older  than  I  had  thought  and,  meeting  the 
intensity  of  these  smouldering  eyes,  beholding  quivering 
nostrils  and  relentless  mouth  and  chin,  my  flesh  crept  with 
a  fierce  and  unaccountable  loathing  of  the  man  and,  un- 
heeding the  threat  of  the  cane,  I  leapt  on  him  like  a  mad 
creature.  I  felt  the  sharp  pain  of  a  blow  as  the  cane 
snapped  asunder  on  my  body  and  I  was  upon  him,  pound- 
ing and  smiting  with  murder  in  my  heart.  Then  the  long 
white  hand  seized  my  collar  and  whirled  me  aside  with 
such  incredible  strength  that  I  fell  and  lay  for  a  moment 
half-stunned  as,  without  a  glance  towards  me,  he  opened 
the  carriage  door  and  imperiously  motioned  Diana  to 
enter. 

"  Come,  my  goddess,  let  us  fly ! "  said  he,  soft-voiced 
and  smiling.  But  as  he  approached  her,  she  tossed  aside 
her  basket,  stooped,  and  I  saw1  the  evil  glitter  of  her  little 
knife;  the  gentleman  merely  laughed  softly  and  made  de- 
liberately towards  her;  then,  as  she  crouched  to  spring, 
I  scrambled  to  my  feet. 

"  Don't !  "  I  cried.  "  Don't !  Not  you,  Diana !  Throw 
me  your  knife  —  leave  him  to  me  —  " 

At  this  the  gentleman  paused  to  glance  from  Diana  to 
me  and  back  again. 

"Aha,  Diana,  is  it?"  said  he.  "You'll  be  worth  the 
taming  —  another  time,  chaste  goddess!  Venus  give  you 


2  i  8  Peregrine's  Progress 

to  my  arms  some  day!  Here's  for  your  torn  coat,  my 
sorry  Endymion !  "  Saying  which,  he  tossed  a  guinea  to 
me  and,  stepping  into  the  carriage,  closed  the  door.  The 
staring  groom  mounted,  the  horses  pranced,  but,  as  the 
carriage  moved  off,  1  snatched  up  the  coin  and,  leaping 
forward,  hurled  it  through  the  open  window  into  the  gen- 
tleman's pale,  smiling  face. 

"  Damn  you !  "  I  panted.  "  God's  curse  on  you  —  I  '11 
see  you  dead  —  some  day!"  And  then  the  carriage  was 
gone  and  I,  gasping  and  trembling,  stood  appalled  at  the 
wild  passion  of  murderous  hate  that  surged  within  me. 
And  in  this  awful  moment,  sick  with  horrified  amaze  since  I 
knew  myself  a  murderer  in  my  soul,  I  was  aware  that 
Diana  had  picked  up  my  new  hat  whence  it  had  fallen  and 
was  tenderly  wiping  the  dust  from  it. 

"  Why,  Peregrine,"  sighed  she  reproachfully,  "  you  've 
had  all  your  curls  cut  off !  " 

"  To  the  devil  with  my  curls  !  Come,  let  us  go ! "  And 
snatching  my  hat  I  clapped  it  on  and  led  the  way  across 
the  yard  and,  heedless  of  the  spectators  who  gaped  and 
nudged  each  other,  we  got  into  the  cart,  paid  our  dues, 
and  drove  out  into  the  High  Street,  nor  did  we  exchange 
a  word  until  we  had  left  the  town  behind  us ;  then : 

"  Why  are  you  so  frightful  angry,  Peregrine  ?  " 

"Ah,  why?"  I  groaned.  "What  madness  was  it  that 
would  have  driven  me  to  murder?  Had  you  but  thrown 
me  your  knife  I  should  have  stabbed  him — killed  him 
where  he  stood —  and  loved  the  doing  of  it.  Oh,  hor- 
rible!" 

;<No,  wonderful!"  sighed  she,  laying  her  hand  on  my 
drooping  shoulder.  "I  —  I  liked  you  for  it!  You 
were  n't  afraid  this  time.  Did  he  hurt  you  ?  " 

"Not  much." 

"And  he  tore  your  fine  new  coat  —  the  beast!  Never 
mind,  I  '11  mend  it  for  you  to-night,  if  you  like." 

"  I  can  buy  another,"  said  I  gloomily. 
'  No,    that    would   be  wicked,   wasteful    extravagance, 
Peregrine,  and  I  can  mend  it  beautifully." 


Tells  of  an  Ominous  Meeting      219 

"  Very  well !  "  I  sighed. 

"That's  three  times  you  fights  for. me,  Peregrine." 

"  And  been  worsted  on  each  occasion ! "  said  I. 

"  No,  you  beats  Gabbing  Dick,  remember,"  said  she  con- 
solingly, her  hand  on  my  shoulder  again.  "  And  I  —  I 
likes  you  in  your  new  clothes,  though  I  wish  you  had  your 
curls  back  again  because  —  " 

"  How  came  you  at  the  inn  with  that  man  ?  "  I  demanded 
suddenly. 

"  I  had  been  selling  my  last  few  baskets." 

"  And  he  saw  you?  " 

"Yes." 

"And  spoke  to  you?" 

"  Yes." 

"  And  he —  tried  to  —  kiss  you,  I  suppose?  " 

"  Yes  —  but  what 's  it  matter ;  don't  let 's  talk  of  it  any 
more,  Peregrine." 

"  And  did  he  kiss  you  —  did  he  ?  "  At  this  she  began 
to  frown.  "  Did  he  kiss  you,  Diana —  answer  me?  " 

"  I  '11  not !  "  said  she,  setting  her  chin. 

"Ah,  but  you  shall!" 

"Oh,  but  I  won't!    Who  are  you  to  question  me  so?  " 

"  Tell  me,  or  by  God  I  '11  make  you !  " 

"  Ah,  don't  talk,  you  could  n't  —  no,  not  if —  "I  seized 
her,  wrenched  and  swung  her  down  across  my  knees  (care- 
less alike  in  my  sudden  frenzy  of  fallen  reins,  of  danger  or 
death  itself)  and  having  her  thus  helpless,  set  my  hand 
about  her  soft,  round  throat. 

"  By  God ! "  I  gasped,  "  but  you  shall  tell  me,  Diana ; 
you  shall  tell  me  if  he  dared  sully  you  with  his  vile  touch 
—  speak  —  speak !  " 

And  now  as  I  glared  down  at  her  I  saw  her  eyes  grow 
wide  and  suddenly  fearful. 

"  Oh,  Peregrine,"  she  whispered.  "  Don't  —  don't  look 
at  me  so  —  as  if  you  hated  me  —  don't,  ah,  don't !  "  And 
then,  oh,  wonder  of  wonders !  Her  arms  were  about  my 
neck,  drawing  me  lower  and  lower  until  her  soft  cheek  met 
mine  and,  clasping  me  thus,  she  spoke  under  her  breath: 


220  Peregrine's  Progress 

"He  didn't,  Peregrine  —  he  didn't!     No  man  shall  ever 
kiss  me  in  love  except  —  just  —  one!" 

"  Who?  "  I  questioned,  grasping  her  to  me.  "  Who  is 
that  one?" 

"  Loose  me,  now,"  she  pleaded.  "  You  '11  make  me  cry 
in  a  minute,  and  I  hates  to  cry."  So  I  obeyed  her  and 
sitting  up,  saw  that  Diogenes,  like  the  four-footed  phi- 
losopher he  was,  had  come  to  a  halt  and  was  serenely  crop- 
ping the  grass  by  the  roadside.  And  so  we  presently  drove 
on  again,  but  though  Diana  frowned  no  more,  she  persist- 
ently avoided  my  glance. 

"  Diana,"  said  I  at  last,  vainly  endeavouring  to  meet  her 
gaze,  "  who  is  the  —  one  man  ?  " 

"  Him  as  I  shall  marry,  of  course  —  if  I  ever  do !  "  she 
answered. 

"  Then  that  man  is  myself,  of  course !  " 

"  You  are  a  sight  too  cocksure ! " 

"Am  I?" 

"Yes,  and  —  very  rough,  I  think." 

"Oh,  forgive  me  —  did  I  hurt  you  —  just  BOW,  when 
I  —  " 

"You  did!" 

"Where?" 

"  Here,  on  the  throat,  Peregrine." 

"Let  me  look,"  said  I,  peering.  Then,  "The  wound 
is  not  apparent,  Diana,  unless  it  is  —  here ! l*  and  leaning 
closer,  I  touched  her  soft  neck  with  my  lips.  "  Did  I 
hurt  you  anywhere  else?" 

"  No ! "  said  she  hastily  and  with  sudden  shy  look. 

"  I  could  almost  regret  my  gentleness  ! "  I  sighed.  After 
this  we  drove  in  silence  awhile;  that  is  to  say  Diogenes 
ambled  along  at  his  own  leisurely  gait,  as  if  he  very  well 
knew  that  '  time  was  made  for  slaves '. 

So  I  looked  at  Diana,  drinking  in  this  new,  shy  beauty 
of  her,  and  she  looked  at  earth  and  sky,  at  hedgerow  and 
rolling  meadow  but  with  never  a  glance  at  me. 

"  It  was  wrong  of  you  to  think  the  gentleman  kissed 
me ! "  said  she  suddenly,  beginning  to  frown. 


Tells  of  an  Ominous  Meeting     221 

"  It  was !  "  I  admitted.     "  Very  wrong  indeed !  " 

"Then  why  did  you?" 

"  Because  I  was  a  fool !  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  like  fools !  " 

"  Then  I  will  endeavour  to  be  wiser." 

"  'T  will  need  a  lot  o'  trying,  I  think,"  said  she,  scowling. 

"Good  heavens!"  said  I.     "Are  you  angry  now?" 

**  Yes,  I  can  be  angry  as  well  as  you,  I  s'pose?  " 

"  Of  course !  "  said  I.  "  You  have  contrived  to  be  very 
ill-tempered  lately." 

"Oh,  have  I?" 

"You  have!  And  very  slipshod  in  your  speech  —  in- 
deed, your  diction  is  worse  than  ever — " 

"  Oh,  stow  your  gab !  " 

"  Now  you  are  coarse  and  vulgar  in  the  extreme ! " 

"  Well,  that 's  better  than  pretending  to  be  what  I  ain't. 
And  if  you  don't  like  my  talk  —  hold  your  tongue  and 
I  '11  hold  mine ! " 

"I  will!"  said  I. 

"  Do  !  "  she  snapped.  And  so  was  silence  again,  wherein 
the  birds  seemed  to  sing  quite  out  of  tune  and  Diogenes  a 
lazy  quadruped  very  much  needing  the  whip. 

"  Cannot  you  drive  a  little  faster?  "  I  suggested. 

For  answer  she  lashed  Diogenes  to  a  gallop  so  that  the 
cart  lurched  and  swayed  in  highly  unpleasant  fashion; 
but  presently,  this  speed  abating  somewhat,  I  ventured  to 
loose  my  grip  of  the  seat  and  thrusting  hands  into  pockets, 
felt  the  case  containing  the  locket  and  chain. 

"  Are  you  any  better  tempered  yet?  "  I  enquired. 

"  No  —  nor  like  to  be  —  " 

"  That 's  a  pity !  " 

"Oh  — why?" 

"Because  you  look  prettier  when  you  don't  frown  — " 

"Oh  tush!" 

"Though  you're  handsome  always.  And  besides  I  — 
I  brought  you  a  small  present  —  " 

"  Well,  you  can  keep  it  — 

"  You  have  n't  looked  at  it  yet !  " 


222  Peregrine's  Progress 

"  Don't  want  to !  " 

"  Here  it  is,"  said  I,  opening  the  case.  "  Do  you  like 
it?" 

"  No ! " 

"Won't  you  accept  it?" 

"  No,  I  won't !  " 

"  Why,  very  well ! "  said  I,  and  shutting  the  case  I  threw 
it  into  the  road. 

"  Ah,  don't !  How  could  you !  "  she  cried  and  reined 
Diogenes  to  abrupt  standstill.  "  Go  and  pick  it  up  — 
this  instant!" 

"If  you  don't  want  it  —  I  won't!"  said  I,  folding  my 
arms. 

"  I  did  n't  say  I  did  n't  want  it- 

"  But  you  would  n't  accept  it  —  " 

"No  more  I  will  —  yet  —  " 

"  Now  of  all  the  ridiculous,  unreasonable  creatures  — 

"  So  please  go  an'  pick  it  up,  Peregrine." 

"  If  I  do,  will  you  let  me  put  it  round  your  neck?  " 

"Wait  till  — till  I  feels  a  little  kinder  to  you!" 

"  That  will  be  a  unique  occasion  and  one  to  remem- 
ber ! "  said  I  bitterly,  and  springing  from  the  cart,  I  went 
and  took  up  my  despised  gift,  though  with  very  ill  grace. 
"  And  pray,  madam,"  I  enquired,  thrusting  the  case  into 
my  pocket  and  frowning  up  at  her  where  she  leaned,  chin 
on  fist,  viewing  me  with  her  sombre  gaze,  "  when  are  you 
likely  to  feel  any  kinder  ?  "  * 

"  How  should  I  know  —  and  you  look  s*  strange  and 
different  in  your  new  clo'es  —  " 

"  It  is  to  be  hoped  so ! "  said  I. 

"  And  your  curls  all  cut  off !  " 

"  I  never  thought  you  'd  notice —  " 

"  And  you  seem  more  cocksure  than  ever  —  " 

"  Cocksure  is  an  ugly  word,  Diana." 

"  So  I  think  I  liked  you  better  as  you  were." 

"  Good  !  "  said  I,  climbing  back  into  the  cart.  "  It  re- 
mains for  me  to  make  you  like  me  best  —  as  I  am." 

"How?" 


Tells  of  an  Ominous  Meeting      223 

"  By  marrying  you." 

"But  you  don't  —  we  ain't  in  love  with  each  other  or 
any  such  silliness,"  said  she,  flicking  idly  at  the  hedge  with 
the  whip. 

"  I  'm  not  so  sure,  Diana.  Indeed,  I  begin  to  think  I 
do  —  love  you  in  a  way  —  or  may  do  soon." 

"Oh,  do  you?" 

"I  do!" 

"  Have  you  ever  been  in  love  ?  " 

"  Never." 

"  Then  you  don't  know  nothin'  about  it." 

"Do  you?"  I  questioned. 

"  More  than  you !  "  she  nodded. 

"  Ah,  do  you  mean  that  you  have  loved  —  some  man  —  " 

"  Of  course  not,  silly !  " 

"  Good !  "  said  I.  "  And  you  have  promised  faithfully 
never  to  kiss  any  other  man  but  me  —  " 

"  I  said  the  man  I  married  —  " 

"  Well,  that  is  me." 

"Oh,  is  it?" 

"  Of  course ! " 


CHAPTER  XXX 

OF  A  TKULY  MEMORABLE  OCCASION 

THE  silence  was  broken  only  by  the  plodding  hoofs  of 
Diogenes,  the  creak  of  harness  and  rattle  of  wheels,  while 
Diana  grew  lost  in  thought  and  I  in  contemplation  of 
Diana ;  the  stately  grace  of  her  slender,  shapely  form,  the 
curve  of  her  vivid  lips,  the  droop  of  her  long,  down-swept 
lashes,  her  resolute  chin  and  her  indefinable  air  of  native 
pride  and  power.  All  at  once  her  sombre  look  gave  place 
to  a  smile,  her  slender  hand  tightened  upon  the  reins,  and 
glancing  up  I  saw  that  we  had  reached  a  place  where  four 
roads  met,  and  here,  seated  beneath  the  finger-post  was 
a  solitary,  shabbily  dressed  old  man  absorbed  in  a  book; 
roused  by  the  sound  of  our  approach,  he  glanced  up  and 
I  recognised  the  ancient  person,  Lord  Wyvelstoke. 

"  It 's  my  old  man ! "  said  Diana,  and  waved  her  hand 
in  joyous  greeting,  whereupon  he  arose  and  doffing  his 
weather-beaten  hat,  bowed  white  head  in  stately  greeting. 

"  Surely  it  is  my  pleasure  to  behold  my  courageous 
young  Amazon,"  said  he,  limping  forward.  "  Greetings, 
fair  Penthesilea !  "  and  taking  the  hand  she  reached  out  to 
him,  he  kissed  it  gallantly. 

"And  you  are  still  alone!"  said  she,  smiling  down  at 
him  as  she  had  never  smiled  at  me.  "  Are  you  always 
alone?" 

"  Always !  "  he  answered,  sighing.  "  Though  I  have  my 
books  —  and  an  old  man's  dreams.  But,  God  bless  you, 
child,  how  radiant  you  look;  you  seem  the  soul  incarnate 
of  this  glorious  day." 

"  And  this  is  Peregrine,"  said  she  a  little  hastily,  with 
a  wave  of  her  hand  in  my  direction. 

"  Sir,  I  trust  I  see  you  well !  "  said  I,  bareheaded  and 
bowing,  and  his  lordship,  glancing  at  me  for  the  first  time, 
recognised  me  despite  my  altered  appearance. 


Of  a  Truly  Memorable  Occasion     225 

"  Mr.  Vereker,"  quoth  he,  with  another  bow,  "  this  is 
a  twofold  pleasure!  So  you  are  acquainted  with  my 
Penthesilea?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  though  I  know  her  as  Diana! " 

"  But  my  real  name  's  Anna,  sir  —  as  I  tells  you  at  the 
fair,"  she  added. 

"  Yes,"  answered  his  lordship,  "  and  you  called  me  your 
old  pal,  I  remember.  Yet  Mr.  Vereker  is  indubitably 
right,  for  Diana  you  surely  are,  as  fair  as  the  chaste  god- 
dess, as  brave  and  —  " 

"  As  nobly  good !  "  said  I. 

"  Assuredly,  sir !  "  he  nodded,  in  the  quick,  decisive  way 
I  remembered.  "  The  eyes  of  Age  are  as  quick  to  recog- 
nise purity  as  the  eyes  of  Love,  and  a  great  deal  less 
prejudiced." 

"  If  you  're  saying  all  this  about  me  —  don't ! "  quoth 
Diana.  "  Because  I  ain't  a  goddess  and  don't  want  to  be. 
And  now,  old  gentleman,  it 's  gettin'  lateish  and  I  've  sup- 
per to  cook,  so  if  you  'm  going  our  way  let  me  give  you  a 
lift ;  there  's  plenty  o'  room  for  you  'twixt  Peregrine  an' 
me." 

"  No,  no,"  sighed  his  lordship  with  a  somewhat  sad  and 
wistful  smile.  "  You  have  each  other,  and  I  am  old  and 
wise  enough  to  know  that  age  is  no  fit  companion  for 
youth  and  beauty  —  " 

"  But  I  like  old  folks,"  said  Diana  in  her  direct  fashion. 
"  I  like  you,  your  voice  and  grand  manners  ;  it 's  plain  you 
was  a  fine  gentleman  once  —  though  your  coat  wants 
mendin'." 

"  Indeed,  I  fear  it  is  almost  beyond  mending,"  answered 
his  lordship ;  "  but  it  is  a  favourite,  and  old  like  myself, 
though  I  am  glad  you  can  find  it  in  your  heart  to  be  kind 
to  an  old  fellow  in  a  shabby  coat  — : 

"  What 's  a  coat  matter?  "  smiled  Diana.  "  Peregrine's 
was  worse  than  yours." 

"  Yes,"  nodded  his  lordship.  "  I  fancy  it  was,  and  I  'm 
glad  —  very  glad  that  you  like  me  also,  Diana;  it  does  me 
good,  child." 


226  Peregrine's  Progress 

"  Why,  then,  come  on  up,"  she  commanded,  reaching 
out  her  hand  to  him  in  her  imperious  manner. 

"  Pray  do,  sir,"  said  I.  "  It  would  be  an  honour  and 
pleasure." 

"It  '11  save  your  poor,  old,  stiff  leg,  sir! "  added  Diana. 

"  Ah,  Diana,  fair  goddess,"  said  he  in  his  placid,  stately 
manner,  "  when  you  put  my  disturbers  to  such  ignominious 
flight  at  the  fair,  you  graciously  unbent  enough  to  address 
me  as  '  your  old  pal '  —  " 

"  You  seemed  s'  very  lonely !  "  she  explained. 

"  Child,"  he  sighed,  "  I  am  lonely  still ! " 

"  Why,  then,"  said  she  in  her  gentlest  voice,  smiling 
down  into  his  wistful  face,  "  come  on  up,  old  pal,  an'  for- 
get your  loneliness  awhile." 

And  now  his  lordship  smiled  also,  and  having  pocketed 
his  book,  climbed  into  the  cart  with  our  assistance  and 
seated  himself  between  us. 

"  This,"  sighed  he,  as  Diogenes  ambled  on  again,  "  is 
exceedingly  kind  in  you,  to  burden  yourselves  thus  with  a 
solitary  and  garrulous  old  man  — ' 

"  What 's  garrulous  ?  "  demanded  Diana. 

"  Talkative,  my  child,  excessive  verbosity  —  Mr.  Vere- 
ker  will  doubtless  remember  our  conversation  on  music," 
said  he,  with  a  whimsical  glance  at  me. 

"  Indeed,  yes,  sir,"  I  answered.  "  I  was  greatly  inter- 
ested." 

"  Well,  I  like  to  hear  you  talk,  too,"  said  Diana,  "  you 
speaks  like  Peregrine  does,  only  he  says  such  silly  things, 
and  he 's  a  great  deal  too  cocksure  of  himself  into  the 
bargain ! " 

"  Concerning  which,"  said  his  lordship  gently,  "  you 
may  have  remarked  that  Mr.  Vereker  possesses  a  chin." 

'*  What 's  his  chin  to  do  with  it?  You  've  got  one —  so 
have  I  for  that  matter." 

'True,  child,  we  all  three  possess  chins  that  typify 
dogged  resolution  to  a  remarkable  degree  —  " 

"  Peregrine's  hatefully  dogged ;  I  know  that ! "  sighed 
Diana. 


Of  a  Truly  Memorable  Occasion     227 

"  Excellent  youth !  "  nodded  our  aged  companion,  re- 
garding me  with  twinkling  eyes. 

"  And  Diana  is  excessively  and  unreasonably  illogical !  " 
I  retorted. 

*'  Adorable  maiden ! "  sighed  his  lordship,  glancing  at 
Diana. 

"  Lord,  Peregrine,  how  can  you  say  such  things ! "  she 
exclaimed  indignantly.  "  He  only  says  it  because  he  wants 
to  marry  me ! "  she  explained  into  our  companion's  right 
ear.  "  If  I  don't  tell  you  he  will  in  a  minute ;  he  tells  it 
to  every  one." 

"  Perspicacious  youth !  "  nodded  his  lordship. 

"  And  Diana  very  foolishly  attempts  to  deny  me,  for 
no  just  or  adequate  reason,"  I  explained  into  his  left  ear. 

"  Extremely  natural  and  feminine !  "  nodded  his  lord- 
ship. 

"Because  of  his  grand  aunt  and  fine  uncles  for  one 
thing,"  said  Diana. 

"  And  for  what  other  reason?  "  I  demanded. 

"Just  because! " 

"Because  of  what?  " 

"  Never  mind !  " 

"  And  there  you  have  it,  sir !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  Did  you 
ever  hear  such  futile  answers  ?  " 

"  Often,  and  generally  from  the  loveliest  lips,  Mr.  Vere- 
ker  —  " 

"Pray,  sir,  call  me  Peregrine  if  you  will:  and,  sir," 
said  I,  grasping  his  worn  left  sleeve,  "  I  beg  you  to  advise 
me  in  this  matter,  for  you  are  so  wise  — J: 

"  Never  heed  him,  old  pal !  "  cried  Diana,  grasping  his 
right  sleeve.  "Peregrine  only  thinks  he  ought  to  marry 
me  because  he  bought  me  and  folks  talk  and  —  " 

"Pardon  me,  dear  child,  but  how  and  where  may  one 
purchase  a  goddess  ?  "  his  lordship  enquired.  "  You  said 
*  bought',  I  think?" 

"  Yes,  he  bought  me  for  fourteen  guineas,  a  florin,  one 
groat  and  three  pennies !  "  and  in  two  breaths,  or  there- 
abouts, she  had  recounted  th»  whole  incident. 


228  Peregrine's  Progress 

"  Admirable ! "  exclaimed  his  lordship,  glancing  from 
one  to  other  of  us  with  shining  eyes.  "Ridiculous! 
Magnificent ! " 

**  And  that 's  the  only  reason  he  wants  to  marry  me  —  " 

"  There  you  are  wrong,  Diana,  and  most  unjust !  "  said 
I  indignantly.  "  You  know  my  chief  purpose  in  wedding 
you  is  to  take  you  from  this  wandering  life  and  shield 
you  from  all  hardship  and  coarseness." 

"  And  what  of  love,  Peregrine?  "  enquired  his  lordship, 
gently.  At  this  I  hesitated,  glanced  down  at  the  gleaming 
buckles  of  my  new  shoes,  glanced  up  at  the  blue  serenity 
of  heaven,  and  finally  looked  at  Diana,  to  find  her  watching 
me  beneath  scowling  brows. 

"  And  there  you  have  it ! "  said  she  in  disdainful  mim- 
icry, "he  —  he  don't  know!" 

The  Ancient  Person  smiled  and  laid  his  small,  white 
hand  upon  Diana's  brown  fingers. 

"  But  then,  dear  child  with  the  wise,  woman's  eyes  — 
you  have  seen  and  surely  know."  Now  at  this  Diana 
glanced  swiftly  from  him  to  me  and  then,  to  my  amaze- 
ment, flushed  hotly  and  drooped  her  head.  "  Ah,  yes,*' 
sighed  his  lordship,  "  I  see  you  know,  child,  so  what  mat- 
ter? " 

"  Sir,"  said  I,  "what  do  you  mean?  " 

"  Peregrine,  I  touch  upon  an  abstract  theme  and  there- 
fore one  better  sensed  than  described,  so  I  will  not  attempt 
it."  Here,  to  my  further  surprise,  Diana  nestled  closer 
to  him  and  whispered  something  in  his  ear. 

"  I  believe,"  said  the  Ancient  Person,  after  Diogenes 
kad  plodded  some  little  distance,  "  I  believe  you  are  camp- 
ing with  Jessamy  Todd  ?  " 

14 Yes,  sir,  but  pray,  how  did  you  learn  this?" 

"Well,  I  know  the  redoubtable  Jessamy  rather  well." 

"  We  'm  settled  in  the  wood  beyond  Wyvelstoke  Park," 
added  Diana,  "  along  by  the  stream." 

"  I  know  it,"  nodded  his  lordship,  "  I  have  killed  many 
a  fine  trout  along  that  same  stream.  I  shall  do  myself 
the  pleasure  of  finding  you  one  of  these  days,  if  I  may?  " 


Of  a  Truly  Memorable  Occasion     229 

"  Pray  do  sir,"  said  I  eagerly,  "  you  will  find  Jeremy 
Jarvis  the  most  wonderful  tinker  in  the  world  and  one 
who  writes  poetry  besides  mending  kettles  and  shoeing 
horses." 

"This  has  been  a  truly  memorable  occasion,"  said  his 
lordship.  "I  feel  myself  honoured  by  your  confidence,  it 
has  given  me  a  new  interest  in  my  solitary  life." 

"  And  why  are  you  so  solitary?  "  questioned  Diana. 

"  Because  old  age  is  usually  solitary,  and  because  in  my 
youth,  when  Love  came  to  me,  I  was  a  coward,  by  reason 
of  worldly  considerations,  and  let  it  plead  in  vain,  alas! 
And  thus,  although  my  friends  were  many  in  those  days, 
my  empty  heart  was  always  solitary,  and  now — my 
friends  are  mostly  dead,  and  I  am  —  a  childless,  lonely 
old  man ! " 

The  white  head  drooped  disconsolate,  the  slender,  deli- 
cate hands  wrung  each  other,  and  then  about  these  bowed 
and  aged  shoulders  Diana  clasped  protecting  arm  and 
stooped  soft  cheek  to  his. 

"  Ah,  poor  old  soul,  don't  grieve !"  she  murmured. 
"  Here 's  Peregrine  and  me  will  be  your  friends  and  pals,  if 
you  '11  have  us,  and  if  you  're  ever  very  lonely  or  in  want, 
come  to  us  —  wait ! "  Then,  opening  her  gipsire,  and 
before  I  could  prevent,  into  those  slender  fingers  she  thrust 
a  bright,  new  guinea;  for  a  long  moment  his  lordship 
stared  down  at  the  coin  while  I  grew  alternately  hot  and 
cold.  When  at  last  he  lifted  his  white  head  I  saw  his  keen 
eyes  dimmed  with  unshed  tears. 

"  Why,  child  ?  "  he  murmured.     "  Generous  girl  —  " 

"  No,  don't ! "  she  smiled.  "  Don't  say  anything !  Only- 
let  me  be  your  friend  to  cheer  your  loneliness  an'  help  you 
now  an'  then." 

Lord  Wyvelstoke  stared  at  the  coin  in  his  palm  as  if  it 
had  been  a  very  rare  and  curious  object,  then,  having  de- 
posited it  carefully  within  an  inner  pocket,  he  bared  his 
head  in  his  courtly  fashion. 

"  Diana,"  said  he,  "  sweet  friend,  you  have  given  me 
something  precious  as  my  vanished  youth  and  more  last- 


230  Peregrine's  Progress 

ing;  accept  a  once  solitary  old  man's  gratitude.  Mr. 
Vrreker —  Peregrine,  you  who  stand  perhaps  where  I 
stood  years  ago  with  the  best  of  all  things  in  your  reach 
—  grasp  it,  boy,  follow  heart  rather  than  head,  and  may 
you  find  those  blessings  I  have  never  known.  Here,  I 
think,  is  the  advice  you  sought  of  me  —  for  the  rest,  you 
are  a  Vercker,  sir,  and  carry  honour  in  your  name.  And 
now  is  good-bye  for  a  time;  my  way  lies  yonder,"  said 
he,  pointing  towards  a  by-lane.  So  here  we  stopped  and 
down  sprang  I  to  aid  our  Ancient  Person  to  alight. 

"You  '11  come  soon  and  let  me  patch  your  coat?  "  said 
Diana,  giving  him  her  hand. 

"  Assuredly  !  "  he  answered,  with  his  quick,  decisive  nod. 
"  Meantime,  God  be  kind  to  you  both,  your  friendship  has 
lifted  much  of  the  heaviness  of  years  from  my  heart  and 
I  shall  walk  the  lighter  henceforth !  "  So  saying,  he  bent 
and  kissed  Diana's  hand,  shook  mine  vigorously  and  limped 
away. 

"  A  dear  old  man ! "  said  Diana,  looking  after  him 
gentle-eyed. 

"  I  wonder,"  said  I,  "  I  wonder  what  he  meant  by  that 
talk  regarding  my  *  head  and  heart '  —  " 

"How  should  I  know?" 

"  But  what  do  you  think?  " 

"  That  you  'd  better  get  in  if  you  're  goin'  to ! "  Obedi- 
ently I  clambered  into  the  cart,  whereupon  Diana  prodded 
the  somnolent  Diogenes  into  motion. 

"Where  did  you  meet  his  1  —  that  Ancient  Person, 
Diana?" 

"  At  the  fair.  Hooky  Sam  and  two  pals  tried  to  rob 
him,  an*  him  such  a  poor,  lonely  old  soul,  only  I  stood 
'em  off,  made  'em  cut  their  stick,  I  did." 

"But  he  had  a  pistol—" 

"What—  him?  Well  if  so,  he  didn't  have  t'  use  it, 
my  little  churl  was  enough." 

"  Indeed,  you  are  far  braver  than  I  was,  Diana  —  " 

'*  Tush !  There 's  few  men  as  won't  cut  and  run  from 
a  female  if  she's  got  a  knife  —  an'  means  t'  use  it." 


Of  a  Truly  Memorable  Occasion     231 

"  This  was  why  he  named  you  Penthesilea." 

"Who's  she?" 

"  She  was  a  Queen  of  the  Amazons  and  fought  at 
Troy  —  " 

"What's  Amazons?" 

"Fierce,  terrible  women  who  hated  men  and  loved  to 
fight." 

"  Well,  I  hates  a  fight,  so  don't  you  go  calling  me 
Penthe  —  whatever  her  name  was." 

"  No,  Diana,  I  would  have  you  her  very  opposite,  if 
possible." 

"  How  d'  ye  mean  ?  " 

"  I  'd  have  you  a  lady,  sweet-mannered,  soft-voiced, 
tender  and  gentle  —  " 

"Like  your  aunt?  But  she  ain't  exactly  a  pet  lamb, 
Peregrine,  nor  yet  a  cooin'  dove  —  now,  is  she?  And  as 
for  me  I  'm  just  —  " 

"  My  goddess  Diana ! " 

"  Was  the  real  goddess  a  lady  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  —  I  suppose  so  —  but  I  want  to  ask  you  —  " 

"No,  tell  me  about  her — the  goddess  Diana." 

"Well,  besides  Diana,  she  was  called  Cynthia,  Delia, 
Ancia,  Orthia  and  several  other  names  —  " 

"  And  all  of  'em  pretty,  too ! " 

"  And  she  was  passionately  fond  of  hunting." 

"  And  did  n't  like  men  overmuch,  did  she?  " 

"  Well,  it  appears  not.  She  changed  Actaeon  into  a  stag 
and  had  him  devoured  by  her  dogs  —  " 

"Which  wasn't  very  ladylike,  Peregrine  —  that  was 
coming  it  a  bit  too  strong,  I  think!  Why  did  she  do  it? 
Poor  young  man !  '* 

"  Because  he  spied  upon  her  —  at  her  toilet." 

"  Was  that  all?  D'  ye  mean  he  catches  her  undoin'  her 
curl  papers  ?  " 

"  She  was  —  bathing!  " 

"  Oh !  "  said  Diana.  "  Well,  poor  young  man !  She  'd 
got  modesty  pretty  bad,  I  think,  and  if  all  goddesses  are 
like  her  —  " 


232  Peregrine's  Progress 

"They  were  not." 

"  Oh,  well,  let 's  talk  o'  something  more  human-like  —  " 

"  Ourselves !  "  I  suggested. 

"  Well,  I  sold  every  one  o'  my  baskets  and  earned  fifty- 
six  shillings.  How  much  money  did  you  spend,  Pere- 
grine? " 

"  I  'm  not  sure,  but  about  twenty-seven  pounds,  I 
fancy." 

"  Pounds  ?  "  she  cried  so  suddenly  that  Diogenes  pricked 
his  ears.  "  For  them  noo  duds  —  " 

"  Horrible ! "   I  exclaimed. 

"  It  is !  "  said  she.     "  It 's  wicked  robbery  —  " 

"  I  mean  your  grammar,  Diana,  and  the  word  *  duds  ', 
whatever  it  may  mean,  sounds  atrocious,  especially  om 
your  lips  —  " 

"  Oh,  tush !  D'  ye  mean  as  they  charges  you  all  that 
money  for  them  new  —  " 

"  Those ! "  I  corrected. 

"  Things  you  're  wearing  —  " 

"  You  forget  the  despised  locket  and  chain,"  said 
I  reproachfully,  "  and  I  also  purchased  two  silver 
watches  —  " 

"Watches?     Two  on  'em?     What  for?" 

"  One  for  our  Tinker  and  one  for  Jessamy,"  I  explained. 

"  Foolishness !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  Indeed,  madam  ?  " 

"  It 's  wicked  waste  o'  money  —  an'  don't  call  me 
« madam  ' ! " 

"  I  suppose  I  may  be  permitted  to  spend  my  money  to 
please  myself,  girl  ?  " 

"  I  s'pose  so,  boy!  Easy  come,  easy  goT  You  can  get 
more  any  time  ye  want,  just  for  the  askin',  can't  you? 
But  you  would  n't  spend  s'  gay  an'  careless  if  you  had  to 
earn  your  money,  to  slave  an'  sweat  for  it  —  not  you!" 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  I  demanded  in  towering  anger. 

"  Just  because !  " 

"  I  consider  you  are  very  —  exceedingly  —  "  I  checked 
the  word  upon  my  lips  and  scowled. 


Of  a  Truly  Memorable  Occasion     233 

"Well?     Very  exceedingly  —  what?"  she  demanded. 
"  Never  mind !  " 

"  I  don't ! "  she  retorted,  and  flicked  Diogenes  to  speed- 
ier gait,  for  evening  was  beginning  to  fall. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

A  VEEEKEB'S  ADVICE  TO  A  VEREKEE 

DIOGENES,  perceiving  he  was  permitted  to  loiter  no  more, 
philosophically  betook  himself  to  his  heels,  or  rather 
hoofs,  and  trotted  briskly  supper-wards,  up  hill  and 
down,  until  suddenly,  above  the  rattle  and  grind  of  the 
wheels,  I  was  aware  of  a  man's  voice,  peculiarly  sonorous 
and  sweet,  upraised  in  joyful  singing. 

"  Praise  God  from  whom  all  blessings  flow 
Praise  Him  all  creatures  here  below  —  " 

The  single  voice  was  joined  by  others  that  swelled  ia 
jubilant  chorus: 

"  Praise  Him  above,  ye  Heavenly  Host 
Praise  Father,  Son  and  Holy  Ghost." 

Reaching  the  top  of  a  hill  I  looked  down  upon  a  little 
hamlet  shady  with  trees,  a  cluster  of  thatched,  flower-girt 
cottages,  a  hoary  church,  an  ancient  inn  before  which 
last  stood  Jessamy  Todd  and  a  group  of  rustic  folk,  men 
in  smocked  frocks  or  shirt  sleeves,  bare-armed  women  in 
aprons  or  print  gowns,  children  tousled  and  round  of  eye, 
and  all,  for  the  most  part,  very  silent,  with  heads  rever- 
ently bowed,  for  Jessamy  was  praying: 

"  —  so  Heavenly  Father  here  we  be,  Thy  children  all, 
weary  with  another  day's  labour,  grant  us  this  night 
Thy  peace,  each  one.  If  any  there  be  that  grieve, 
O  Father,  comfort  'em;  if  any  there  be  in  pain,  O 
Father,  pity  an'  cherish  'em;  if  any  do  bear  ill-will 
agin  his  brother,  O  Father,  turn  his  anger  to  love 
that  love  may  come  thereby.  Oh,  make  us  strong 
against  all  temptations,  that  when  we  come  to  our 
last,  long  sleep  we  may  rest  with  Thee  for  ever.  Amen. 

And  good-night,  friends  and  brothers." 


A  Vereker's  Advice  to  a  Vereker    235 

Hereupon  Jessamy  put  on  his  hat,  paused  to  grasp 
the  horny  hands  extended  to  him,  then  lifted  a  large 
canvas  bag  to  his  shoulder,  but  at  my  shout  he  turned 
and  flourished  his  hat  in  salutation  as  we  drove  up. 

"  Why,  Jessamy,"  exclaimed  Diana,  as  he  placed  the 
bag  in  the  cart,  "  what 's  come  t'  your  face  ?  "  And  now 
I  saw  his  comely  features  were  disfigured  by  an  ugly  blue 
weal. 

"  Oh,  nothin'  much,  Ann,"  he  exclaimed,  smiling  a 
little  sheepishly.  "  Only  a  whip  —  " 

"Lord,  Jess  —  whose?" 

"I  come  on  a  fine  gentleman  thrashing  of  a  little  lad, 
whereupon  I  ventured  a  word  of  remonstrance  as  in 
dooty  bound  and  turned  to  look  to  the  lad  as  lay  a-weepin', 
whereupon  the  gentleman  took  occasion  to  gi'e  me  this 
here  —  ye  see  he  did  n't  'appen  to  know  me,  poor  soul !  " 

"  Well,  I  hope  you  gave  the  *  poor  soul '  all  he  needed ! " 
cried  Diana,  cracking  the  whip  so  loudly  that  Diogenes 
pricked  startled  ears. 

"I'm  afraid  I  did,  Ann,  God  forgive  me.  The  Old 
Adam  's  very  strong  in  me." 

"And  how's  the  poor  boy?" 

"Why,  the  gentleman  wore  ridin'  boots,  d*  ye  see  — " 

"  Ah !  "  exclaimed  Diana  between  white  teeth.  "  And 
what 's  become  o'  the  gentleman  —  " 

"They  —  put  him  to  bed,"  confessed  Jessamy  guiltily, 
"but  he's  nice  an'  comfortable,  Ann,  an'  '11  be  right  as 
nine  pence  in  th'  morning." 

"What  sort  of  a  person  was  he?"  I  enquired. 

"  A  biggish  chap,  a  bit  too  round  an'  wi'  too  much 
neck." 

"How  often  did  ye  hit  him,  Jess?" 

"Four  times,  Ann!  Four  times,  an'  one  would  ha* 
been  plenty.  Four  times  an'  me  preachin'  forgiveness  an* 
brotherly  love  —  " 

"  Brotherly  love 's  no  good  agin'  that  kind  o'  beast,  a 
good  strong  fist's  the  thing,  or  better  still  a  little,  sharp 
churi  —  like  mine!" 


236  Peregrine's  Progress 

"  Ah,  but  when  I  hit  him,"  sighed  Jessamy,  "  I  went  on 
hitting  him  —  not  for  the  good  of  his  soul  but  because  — 


"Well,  it  did  him  just  as  much  good,  anyhow!'*  said 
Diana  whereupon  Jessamy  sighed  again  and  shook  his 
head  in  self-reproof.  Seeing  him  thus  downcast,  I  laid 
a  hand  on  his  arm  and  with  the  other  felt  in  my  pocket. 

"Do  you  happen  to  possess  a  watch,  Jessamy?"  I 
enquired. 

"  Aye,  for  sure,"  he  nodded,  "  that  is,  I  did,  an*  a  rare 
good  'un  too,  but  it  don't  go  these  days  by  reason  of  a 
brick  as  was  hove  at  me  by  a  riotous  fe-male." 

"Good  heavens!"  I  exclaimed.     "Why?" 

"  The  poor  creetur*  being  in  liquor  did  n't  take  kindly 
to  my  method  o*  prayer,  so  she  let  fly  a  brick  as  took  me 
in  the  watch,  bein*  fortunate  for  me  but  bad  for  my 
watch  —  a  good,  silver  watch,  too,  as  was  given  me  by  my 
old  dad  just  afore  he  died.  An'  so  I  ain't  had  the  'eart 
to  buy  another." 

"Then  will  you  please  accept  this?"  said  I  a  little 
diffidently,  aware  of  Diana's  sharp  eyes,  and  I  thrust  the 
timepiece  into  his  hand. 

"Why  —  but  —  how  can  I  —  Lord  bless  me!"  stam- 
mered Jessamy,  glancing  from  the  watch  to  me  and  back 
again  irresolutely. 

"  You  'd  better  put  it  into  your  pocket,  Jess,  quick, 
or  he  '11  throw  it  into  the  ditch  !  "  nodded  Diana.  "  So 
put  it  into  your  pocket  and  thank  the  pretty  gentleman." 
This  Jessamy  did,  after  no  little  demur  and  with  reiter- 
ated expressions  of  thanks. 

"  Which  do  remind  me,  sir,  as  I  have  a  letter  for  you," 
said  he. 

"  And  my  name  is  Peregrine,"  I  nodded. 

"  A  letter,  Peregrine,  as  was  give  to  me  for  you  by  your 
uncle,  Sir  Jervas."  And  presently,  having  felt  through 
his  numerous  pockets,  he  brought  forth  the  letter  in  ques- 
tion, which,  with  due  apology,  I  proceeded  to  open  and 
read  ;  here  it  is  : 


A  Vereker's  Advice  to  a  Vereker    237 

MY  DEAR  PEREGRINE:- 

Apropos  of  your  forthcoming  marriage  (at  this  I  started) 
be  guided  by  your  own  discretion  in  the  matter,  since  Mar- 
riage is  one  of  the  few  serious  dangers  to  be  feared  in  an 
otherwise  somewhat  vapid  tedium  we  call  life.  Be  yourself 
to  yourself,  guide,  philosopher  and  friend,  since  you  are  likely 
to  heed  the  wisdom  of  such  more  than  that  of  any  other 
friend,  for  I  judge  that  being  a  Vereker,  no  Vereker  (or  any 
other  lesser  human)  can  stay  you  from  your  fixed  purpose. 
So  (writing  as  a  relation  who  has  developed  an  unexpected 
regard  for  you)  my  serious  advice  is — act  upon  your  own 
advice.  Your  beautiful  gipsy  is  a  magnificent  creature 
with  a  mind  and  will  of  her  own,  the  dignified  unrestraint  of 
a  dryad  and  the  deplorable  diction  of  a  wandering  gipsy 
wench.  She  would  be  excellent  as  a  picture,  entertaining 
as  a  companion  and  execrable  as  a  wife.  This  of  course  is 
merely  the  opinion  of  a  Vereker  which  to  another  Vereker 
is  of  not  the  slightest  consideration.  None  the  less,  being 
somewhat  your  senior  in  years,  I  would  venture  to  point  out 
what  I  have  learned  by  bitter  experience,  to  wit,  nephew, 
riz:  that  which  is  delightful  for  an  hour  may  disgust  in  a 
week  and  become  intolerable  within  a  month. 

In  which  certainty 
I  subscribe  myself, 
Most  humbly  your  uncle, 

JERVAS  VEREKER. 

P.  S.  If  you  care  to  designate  such  address  as  will  find 
you,  your  allowance  shall  be  forwarded  either  by  week  or 
month  as  you  shall  determine. 

Scarcely  had  I  finished  the  perusal  of  this  character- 
istic missive  than  we  turned  from  the  road  and  jolted 
down  the  grassy  slope  towards  the  little  wood  from  whose 
rustling  shadow  came  the  blithe  thump  and  ring  of  the 
Tinker's  busy  hammer,  which  merry  clamour  ceased  sud- 
denly; and  forth  to  welcome  us  came  Jerry,  sooty  and 
grimed  as  Vulcan  himself  and  smiling  in  cheery  greeting. 
And  glancing  from  his  honest  face,  with  its  wise  and  kindly 
eyes,  over  the  quiet  peace  of  this  sheltered  wood  and  smil- 
ing countryside,  to  Diana's  proud  and  rital  beauty,  I  knew 
indeed  that  no  Vereker  or  any  other  human  could  stay 
me  from  my  purpose. 


238  Peregrine's  Progress 

"  Jeremy,"  said  I,  plunging  hand  into  pocket,  "  I  don't 
know  if  you.  possess  a  watch  or  want  a  watch,  but  I've 
bought  you  one ;  pray  accept  it  in  memory  of  our  friend- 
ship and  as  a  very  small  mark  of  my  esteem." 

"  Lord  love  me  —  a  silver  watch!  "  exclaimed  the  Tinker 
for  about  the  tenth  time,  clapping  the  same  to  his  ear. 

"  Two  on  'em,  brother ! "  said  Jessamy,  doing  the  same 
by  his. 

"  My  soul ! "  exclaimed  the  Tinker.  "  Fortune  ain't 
in  the  habit  o*  showering  brand-noo  silver  watches  about 
me  like  this  an*  it's  apt  to  ketch  me  unprepared  with 
words  to  soot  the  occasion  —  " 

"  True,  brother,  when  Peregrine  stuck  mine  into  my 
fist  it  was  like  a  roaster  in  the  short  ribs,  low,  brother, 
low  —  I  was  floored,  taken  aback,  an'  nat'rally  broached 
to  an'  come  to  a  dead  halt  —  " 

"  Wicked  extravagance,  I  call  it ! "  exclaimed  Diana, 
glancing  up  from  the  potatoes  she  was  peeling.  "  Though 
if  he  wants  to  waste  his  money,  he  could  n't  ha'  wasted  it 
better!" 

"For  that,"  said  I,  seating  myself  beside  her,  "I  will 
help  you  with  those  things  if  you  '11  show  me  how !  "  At 
this  she  glanced  swiftly  at  me  without  lifting  her  head  and 
in  her  eyes  was  an  indescribable  kindliness  and  her  vivid 
lips  were  curved  to  smile  so  tender  that  I  stared  in  joy  fid 
bewilderment  and  forgot  all  else  in  the  world  until  roused 
by  the  Tinker's  voice : 

"And  exactly  what  o'clock  might  it  be  by  your  chro- 
nometer, Jessamy  ?  " 

"  Precisely  fifteen  minutes  an'  three  quarters  past  seven, 
brother." 

"  Then,  according  to  mine,  you  're  precisely  three  quar- 
ters of  a  minute  fast,  Jessamy,  my  lad." 

"  Why,  as  to  that,  friend,"  answered  Jessamy,  "  it 's  in 
my  mind  that  you  're  just  about  that  much  slow,  comr.ide." 

And  so,  reaching  a  knife,  I  began  to  help  Diana  in  the 
peeling  of  potatoes  and,  though  finding  it  a  somewhat  try- 
ing business,  yet  contrived  ever  and  anon  to  steal  surrepti- 


A  Vereker's  Advice  to  a  Vereker    239 

tious  glances  at  her  downbent  face  and  to  surprise  more 
than  once  that  new  soft  and  shy-sweet  wonder  in  her 
glance. 

"  You  '11  cut  yourself  if  you  are  n't  more  careful !  "  she 
admonished,  and  the  kindness  it  seemed  had  somehow  got 
into  her  voice. 

"  What  matter  ?  "  said  I.  "  What  does  anything  matter 
except  —  " 

"What?"  she  questioned  softly. 

"  You,  Diana  —  you  and  only  you  —  " 

"  Don't  be  silly !  "  said  she,  but  in  the  same  gentle  voice 
and  though  she  stooped  her  head  a  little  lower,  I  thought 
the  colour  was  deepened  in  her  cheek. 

"  Should  you  think  me  silly,  Diana,  if  I  told  you  — " 

"  Yes,  I  should ! "  she  answered  so  suddenly  that  I 
started  and  the  wet  potato  shot  from  my  grasp. 

"  I  fancy  it  '11  rain  to-night,  Jessamy,"  said  the  Tinker, 
glancing  up  at  the  heavens. 

"  Brother,  I  'm  pretty  sure  of  it,"  answered  Jessamy, 
"  I  noticed  the  clouds  bankin'  up  to  wind'ard.  We'd  best 
rig  up  t'  other  tent  —  " 

"  Why,  Peregrine,"  exclaimed  the  Tinker,  as  I  stooped 
to  recover  the  elusive  vegetable,  "  who  's  been  sp'iling  of 
your  noo  coat,  your  collar's  all  ripped,  lad?" 

"  A  black  scoundrel  who  insulted  Diana,"  I  exclaimed, 
clenching  my  fists. 

"  A  gentleman  as  spoke  to  me,  you  mean !  " 

"  The  damned  rogue  tried  to  kiss  you  —  " 

"Well,  what  of  it— I  didn't  let  him,  did  I?" 
•   "You  have  no  business  to  run  such  risks,"  said  I  an- 
grily, my  gorge  rising  at  memory  of  the  fellow,  "  a  tavern 
is  no  place  for  a  girl  — " 

"  Well,  I  can't  live  under  a  glass  case ! "  she  retorted. 
"And,  anyway,  I  can  take  care  of  myself  —  better  than 
you  can ! " 

"Yes,"  I  answered  humbly,  "I  fear  I  am  not  a  very 
terrible  champion  —  Jessamy,  O  Jessamy,  teach  me  how 
to  fight ! " 


240  Peregrine's   Progress 

For  answer  Jessamy  rose  and  opening  his  canvas  bag 
reached  thence  four  of  those  padded  gloves  termed  '  muf- 
flers.' 

"  With  your  uncle  George's  compliments ! "  said  he, 
glancing  at  me  with  twinkling  eyes.  "  And  now,  seeing  the 
light 's  good,  if  jou^m  minded  to  try  a  round  or  so  afore 
supper,  why  cheerily  it  is,  messmate ! " 

Then,  tossing  aside  the  half-peeled  potato  I  stripped  off 
my  coat. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

HOW    I    MADE   A    SURPRISING   DISCOVEEY,    WHICH,    HOWEVER, 
MAY  NOT   SURPRISE   THE  READER  IN   THE   LEAST 

FROM  brake  and  thicket  gemmed  with  a  myriad  sparkling 
dewdrops,  birds  were  singing  a  jubilant  pagan,  as  well  in- 
deed they  might  upon  so  fair  a  morning;  yet  these  were 
but  a  chorus  to  the  singer  down  by  the  brook  whose 
glorious  voice  soared  in  swelling  ecstasy  and  sank  in  plain- 
tive sweetness  only  to  rise  again,  so  high  and  clear  and  in- 
effably sweet  as  seemed  verily  to  inspire  the  birds  to  an 
eager  and  joyful  emulation. 

So  they  sang  together  thus  in  pretty  rivalry,  the  birds 
and  Diana,  until,  her  song  ended,  I  went  my  way  and 
presently  found  her  beside  the  bubbling  rill,  combing  out 
her  shining  hair.  At  sight  of  me  she  laughed  and,  tossing 
back  her  tresses,  flourished  her  comb  in  a  sweep  that  took 
in  radiant  sky,  earth  and  sparkling  brook. 

"  O  Peregrine,  ain't  it  glorious !  "  she  cried. 

"  It  is ! "  said  I,  staring  at  her  loveliness,  whereupon 
she  flushed  and  recommenced  combing  her  hair. 

"  Thought  you  was  asleep  an'  snoring,"  said  she  in  her 
most  ungracious  manner. 

"  Well,  you  see  I  'm  not,  and  besides  I  don't  snore ! " 

"  Tush,  how  can  you  know  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  I  do  —  and  for  heaven's  sake  ;why  talk 
of  such  things  on  such  a  morning,  Diana  ?  " 

"  Because ! "  she  answered,  turning  away. 

"Because  of  what?"  I  demanded,  grasping  a  silky 
handful  of  her  glossy  hair.  "  Why  are  you  so  ungracious 
to  me  lately;  why  do  you  do  and  say  things  that  you 
imagine  will  make  me  think  you  hard  and  unlovely;  why 
do  you  try  to  shock  me  so  often?  " 

"I  don't!     How?" 

"  By  pretending  to  be  trivial  and  shallow  and  common- 
place." 


242  Peregrine's  Progress 

"  Because  I  am ! " 

"  Don't  blaspheme,  Diana.  How  could  you  be  shallow 
or  commonplace,  you  who  taught  me  to  love  the  Silent 
Places?  So  why  attempt  things  so  impossible,  dear 
child?"  And  taking  hold  of  her  smooth,  round  chin  I 
turned  her  head  that  she  must  look  at  me.  "  Why,  Diana, 
why  ?  "  I  repeated.  For  a  moment  she  met  my  look,  then 
her  lids  fluttered  and  fell.  Yet  she  stood  before  me 
strangely  docile. 

"  Because,"  said  she  at  last,  "  you  looks  at  me  lately 
as  —  as  you  are  doing  now,  as  if  —  as  though  —  " 

"I  had  only  just  found  out  how  beautiful  you  are, 
Diana?  And  don't  you  know  why?" 

"Yes,"  she  murmured,  "but  —  you  don't." 

"  I  have  discovered  the  reason  this  morning,"  said  I, 
drawing  her  a  little  nearer,  "I  love  you,  Diana,  I  know 
it  at  last.  Why,  good  heaven,  I  must  have  loved  you  for 
days!" 

"  You  have !  "  she  nodded,  without  looking  at  me. 

"  You  —  you  knew  it,  then  ?  " 

"  Of  course !  "  she  nodded  again.  "  So  did  Jerry  —  so 
did  Jessamy,  so  did  your  tall  uncle  —  and  your  aunt,  I 
think,  and  —  and  everybody  else  in  all  the  world  —  ex- 
cept yourself,  Peregrine." 

"  Blind  fool  that  I  was  —  " 

"  No,  Peregrine,  it  was  because  you  never  guessed,  that 
I  did  n't  run  away  —  " 

"  And  you  never  will  now,  Diana,  because  you  are  mine. 
But  I  loved  the  sweet,  pure  soul  of  you  first  and  so,  my 
Diana,  although  I  am  longing  —  longing  to  kiss  you  — 
those  dear  gentle  eyes,  your  red  lips  —  I  never  will  until 
you  give  them,  because  my  love,  being  very  great,  is  very 
humble,  like  —  like  this!"  And  sinking  to  my  knees,  I 
would  have  kissed  the  hem  of  her  gown,  but  with  a  soft, 
sweet  cry  of  reproach,  she  slipped  to  her  knees  also  and 
swaying  to  me,  hid  her  face  in  my  breast. 

"O  Peregrine,"  she  murmured,  looking  up  at  me 
through  a  mist  of  tears,  "  it  is  a  wonderful  thing  to  be 
loved  by  a  gentleman  —  " 


I  Made  a  Surprising  Discovery      243 

"  Then  God  keep  me  so !  "  I  whispered. 

"  He  will,  Peregrine,  so  long  as  you  are  Peregrine  — 
kiss  me ! "  And  so  for  a  deathless  moment  I  held  her 
close,  to  kiss  her  tumbled  hair,  her  tearful  eyes,  the  tremor 
of  her  sweet  mouth. 

"  Peregrine  —  dear,"  she  sighed,  "  at  first  I  hated  love 
and  when  it  came  it  frighted  me  and  then,  when  it  came 
to  you  and  you  not  knowing,  I  knew  love  could  only  be  a 
dream  'twixt  you  and  me  and  so  I  —  I  tried  to  make  you 
hate  me  —  I  talked  and  acted  rough  —  as  much  as  I  could, 
or  —  or  very  nearly  —  but  I  couldn't  keep  it  up  all  the 
time,  it  hurt  me  so  —  " 

"  Then,"  cried  I,  "  why  then,  you  do  love  me,  heart  and 
soul,  Diana?  " 

"Ah — don't  you  know  —  even  yet?"  said  she  pas- 
sionately. "You  are  so  different,  so  gentle  —  oh,  you're 
—  just  Peregrine !  Ah,  it  is  n't  your  money  I  want,  or  to  be 
a  fine  lady  like  your  aunt  wi'  horses  and  carriages  and 
servants;  ah,  no,  dear  Peregrine,  no  —  it's  just  you  and 
me  together  in  the  Silent  Places  —  " 

"  And  so  we  will  be,"  I  cried,  "  together  in  life  and 
death  —  " 

"  O  Peregrine,  it  is  n't  a  dream  is  it  —  a  dream  that 
can't  come  true.  You'll  —  make  me  marry  you,  won't 
you?" 

"  Ah,  by  God  I  will  —  whenever  you  are  ready,  for  you 
are  mine ! " 

"  Yes,  yours,"  she  whispered,  "  for  ever  and  always ! 
You  ha'  no  doubts  o'  the  future,  have  ye,  Peregrine?  " 

"  None ! "  said  I,  arrogant  in  my  happiness. 

"  When  I  called  you  cocksure  I  —  loved  you  for  it !  " 

Thus  sat  we,  embracing  and  embraced,  beside  this  prat- 
tling stream,  looking  upon  the  glory  of  this  midsummer 
morning  and  each  other  to  find  all  things  ever  more  beau- 
tiful, and  knowing  a  happiness  that  went  far  beyond  mere 
speech. 

Birds  have  sung  as  blithely  —  perhaps ;  the  sun  may 
have  beamed  as  kindly  and  brooks  have  laughed  as  joy- 


244  Peregrine's   Progress 

ously  as  this  chattering  rill  of  ours,  but  as  for  me,  I 
soberly  doubt  it. 

"  Peregrine,"  said  she  at  last,  "where  is  my  locket?  " 

"  Here ! "  said  I,  reaching  the  case  from  my  pocket. 
"  When  your  singing  woke  me  to  this  wonderful,  glorious 
morning,  I  brought  it  to  find  you." 

"  How  pretty  it  is ! "  she  sighed  happily,  touching  it 
tenderly  with  the  extreme  tip  of  one  slender  finger. 

"  It  is  n't  anything  near  good  enough,"  said  I,  viewing 
it  a  little  gloomily,  "  I  will  get  you  one  infinitely  better — 

"  No ! "  said  she.  "  This  is  what  I  shall  always  love 
best,"  and  stooping,  she  touched  the  trinket  with  the 
heaven  of  her  mouth.  Then,  being  upon  our  knees,  she 
stooped  her  head  that  I  might  set  it  about  her  throat,  but 
what  with  her  nearness  and  the  touch  of  her  velvety  neck, 
I  bungled  the  business  sadly,  so  that  she  lifted  her  two 
hands  to  aid  me  and  her  lips  being  so  near,  how  could  I 
help  but  kiss  her. 

"  Now  this,  Peregrine ! "  she  commanded,  drawing  my 
mouth  to  the  locket  where  it  hung.  And  so  I  kissed  the 
locket  and  chain  and  throat  and  neck  until  she  laughed, 
a  little  tremulously,  and  slipping  from  my  hold,  sprang 
to  her  feet  and  fled  away. 

And  now,  being  upon  my  knees,  I  bowed  my  head  and 
passionately  besought  a  blessing  on  this  sweet-souled 
Diana,  this  woman  of  mine,  and  upon  our  love  and  the 
years  that  were  to  be.  My  supplication  ended,  I  remem- 
bered that  this  was  the  first  prayer  I  had  uttered  since 
faring  out  into  the  world.  And  as  I  arose,  came  Jessamy, 
rubbing  sleep  from  his  eyes. 

"Lord  bless  us,  Perry,  what  a  morning  —  the  j'y  of 
it,  brother!  List  to  the  birds  and  hark  —  ah,  do  but 
hark  how  Ann  do  be  singing;  never  'card  her  voice  sound 
so  wonderful  afore,  Perry." 

"  Nor  I,  Jessamy,"  said  I,  as  the  golden  notes  died 
away;  "but  then  there  never  was  quite  such  another 
morning  as  this." 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

OF  TWO  INCOMPARABLE  THINGS.    THE  VOICE  OF  DIANA 
AND  JESSAMY'S  "  EIGHT  " 

EXUBERANT,  with  blood  a-dance  and  nerves  braced  and 
tingling  from  the  sparkling  water,  we  faced  each  other 
upon  the  grassy  level,  Jessamy  and  I,  stripped  to  the 
waist  and  with  muffled  fists  and  I  very  conscious  of  the 
keen  eyes  that  appraised  my  slender  arms,  and  the  muscles 
of  what  uncle  George  would  have  called  my  '  torso.' 

"I'm  afraid  I  am  —  hatefully  puny!"  I  exclaimed, 
casting  a  disparaging  glance  at  my  proportions. 

"  Smallish,"  nodded  Jessamy,  "  smallish,  but  that  ain't 
a  matter  to  weep  over,  brother.  Small  muscles  is  quicker 
than  big.  Moreover,  the  Lord  has  given  you  a  sound  and 
healthy  body  and  left  you  to  develop  an'  do  the  best  wi* 
it.  Fresh  air  an'  exercise,  sledge  'ammer  an'  bellers  '11  work 
wonders  in  a  week  or  so,  mark  my  words.  Now  come  on 
an'  keep  your  weather  peeper  on  my  right,  for  look'ee 
your  left  is  a  feeler,  good  to  keep  your  man  away,  to  jolt 
him  now  an'  then  an'  to  feint  him  to  an  opening,  then 
it's  in  wi'  your  right  an'  all  o'  you  behind  it  —  that's 
my  way  and  I  've  found  it  a  pretty  good  way." 

"  You  've  always  won  your  fights,  have  n't  you, 
Jessamy  ?  " 

"Pretty  often  —  though  'tis  all  vanity,  lad,  arter 
all—" 

"  And  why  did  you  win  —  and  often  against  bigger 
and  stronger  men  ?  " 

"Well,  p'raps  because  I  eat  little  an'  drink  less,  or 
p'raps  because  I  meant  to  win,  or  p'raps  again  because  I 
knew  how.  However,  the  fightin'  game  is  all  vanity  an* 
vexation  an'  keep  your  ogles  on  my  right !  Now,  into  me, 
lad,  an'  hit  hard  —  that's  your  fashion — try  for  my 
chin  but  don't  forget  my  right!  Swing  in  for  my  ribs, 


246  Peregrine's  Progress 

perry  —  and  heartily!  Steady  boy  —  on  your  toes 
now!" 

Such  were  his  expressions  as  we  danced  and  ducked, 
feinted  and  smote,  and  as  often  as  he  bade  me  watch  his 
right,  that  same  right  smacked  home  upon  my  ribs  or  face 
while  I  wasted  myself  in  futile  yet  exceedingly  earnest 
efforts  to  smite  in  turn  his  ever-moving  body  or  elusive, 
wagging  head,  what  time  over  and  under  and  through  my 
guard  shot  his  terrible  fists,  to  tap  me  lightly  here,  to  pat 
me  there  until  my  breath  grew  short.  And  now,  while  I 
stood  to  get  my  wind,  he  explained  how  it  was  done, 
showing  me  sudden  volts  and  turns  and  shifts  which  he 
termed  foot-work.  He  showed  me  how  to  drive  in  short- 
arm  blows,  swinging  from  the  hips,  and  how  to  evade 
them;  how,  when  occasion  favoured,  to  hit  from  the 
shoulder  with  all  my  strength  and  weight  behind  the 
blow,  and  how  to  meet  a  ducking  head  with  what  he  called 
an  uppercut,  just  such  a  terrible  stroke  as  had  caused 
the  downfall  of  the  big  man  Tom. 

Thus  Jessamy  alternately  smote  and  lectured  me  until, 
warned  by  Diana's  clear  call,  we  donned  shirts  and  waist- 
coats and  strode  away  to  breakfast. 

"  And  how  's  he  shaping,  Jessamy  ?  "  enquired  the  Tin- 
ker, serving  out  ham,  pink  and  savoury,  from  the  hissing 
frying  pan,  while  Diana  poured  out  the  coffee. 

"  None  sj  bad,"  answered  Jessamy ;  "  he  's  quick  an* 
willing  an*  don't  mind  bein'  knocked  down  now  and  then, 
which  is  a  good  thing  —  you  went  down  pretty  frequent 
that  last  round,  brother !  "  Here  Diana,  noting  my  bat- 
tered dishevelment,  scowled  at  Jessamy  adorably. 

"It  ain't  —  isn't  needful  to  hit  quite  so  hard,  is  it, 
Jessamy?  "  she  enquired. 

'*  Why,  yes,  Ann.  Peregrine  wants  me  to  teach  him  to 
fight  an'  you  can't  teach  that  to  any  man  by  tapping 
him,  d'  ye  see." 

"  But,  then,  Jessamy,"  said  the  Tinker,  with  his  twink- 
ling, bright  eyes  on  Diana,  "  Peregrine  ain't  exactly  a 
Milo  o'  Crete  as  had  a  habit  o*  slayin'  oxen  wi'  a  blow  of 


Of  Two  Incomparable  Things      247 

his  fist;  Peregrine's  delicate  frame  could  never  endoor 
real  good,  hard  knocks  —  " 

"But  it  could,  Jerry!"  exclaimed  Diana.  "Nobody 
could  hit  him  harder  than  I've  seen  him  hit,  except 
Jessamy,  p'raps."  Now  at  this  I  was  seized  of  such  a 
yearning  to  kiss  her  that  I  bent  lower  over  my  platter 
lest  the  impulse  prove  ungovernable. 

"It  ain't  size  as  counts,  brother,"  added  Jessamy, 
"  no  —  not  once  in  a  thousand ;  an'  as  for  this  cove  Milo, 
big  an'  heavy  an'  slow  as  a  waggon  o'  bricks,  I  could  eat 
him  alive  any  day.  Though  to  be  sure  'twould  only  be 
vanity  an'  vexation  arter  all,"  he  added  mournfully,  "  so 
let 's  talk  o'  better  things." 

"  Why,  then,  Jessamy,"  said  the  Tinker,  his  eyes  twink- 
ling more  than  usual,  "  what  might  be  the  pre-cise  time 
by  your  chronometer?" 

"  It  is  now,"  replied  Jessamy,  solemnly  consulting  his 
watch,  "exactly  five  an'  three  quarter  minutes  to  seven, 
Jerry." 

"  Then  I  take  leave  to  tell  ye,  you  're  exactly  two 
minutes  an'  a  half  slow,"  retorted  the  Tinker,  glancing 
at  his  own. 

"  You  're  very  silent,  Peregrine ;  does  aught  grieve  ye?  " 
enquired  the  Tinker. 

"  Did  I  shake  ye  up  a  bit  too  much,  brother?  "  enquired 
Jessamy  anxiously. 

"  No,  no,  indeed,"  I  answered,  "  it  is  only  that  I  am 
a — a  little  thoughtful  this  morning." 

And  so,  in  a  while,  breakfast  being  done,  Jessamy  rose. 

"  An'  now  for  another  go  at  Old  Nick ! "  quoth  he. 

"Where  are  ye  for  to-day?  "  questioned  the  Tinker. 

"Tonbridge  —  'tis  market  day  an'  Nick '11  be  busy  in 
every  tavern  an'  inn,  as  usual.  What  '11  I  bring  back  for 
supper?" 

"Well,  a  chicken's  tasty,"  mused  the  Tinker,  "but 
then  so 's  lamb,  or  there  's  liver  an'  bacon  —  " 

"  A  shin  o'  beef ! "  said  Diana  in  voice  of  finality. 

"  Stooed ! "  nodded  the  Tinker.     "  Stooed  wi'  plenty  o' 


248  Peregrine's  Progress 

vegetables.  A  shin  o'  beef  or  say  a  couple  —  oh,  prime! 
An'  it 's  my  turn  to  pay,  Jessamy." 

"  No,  it 's  mine ! "  quoth  Diana. 

**  Pray  allow  me ! "  said  I,  reaching  for  my  purse. 

"  Lord  bless  us,  we  're  all  that  rich !  "  laughed  Jessamy. 
"  Come,  let 's  toss  for  it."  The  which  we  did  and  the  lot 
fell  to  Jessamy..  "  A  couple  o'  shins  o'  beef,  loaves  an* 
what  vegetables  ?  " 

"  Get  some  of  all  sorts !  "  nodded  the  Tinker. 

"  We  've  plenty  o'  potatoes  an*  onions ! "  said  Diana. 
"  And  bring  'em  as  early  as  possible,  Jess ;  a  shin  o'  beef 
ought  to  simmer  for  hours." 

"  Cheerily  it  is,  Ann ! "  and  catching  up  the  canvas  bag, 
Jessamy  flourished  his  hat  and  strode  off. 

"  How  does  Jessamy  contrive  to  live?  "  I  enquired. 

"  Lord,  Peregrine,"  answered  the  Tinker,  "  Jessamy 's 
rich  —  or  was  —  made  a  fortun'  wi'  his  fists,  though  I 
reckon  he  's  give  most  of  it  away,  like  the  tender-hearted 
cove  he  is." 

And  now,  while  Diana  busied  herself  in  matters  cul- 
inary, Jeremy  and  I  lighted  the  forge  and  got  us  to  work. 
And  very  often  above  the  ring  and  clamour  of  our  ham- 
mers would  rise  the  wonder  of  her  voice  singing  some  wild 
air  of  the  Zingari  or  plaintive  old  ballad;  so  often  and  so 
gloriously  she  sang  that  at  last,  as  I  blew  the  fire  for 
another  heat,  Jeremy  bade  me  hush,  and  silent  thus  we 
stood  to  hearken. 

"Peregrine,"  said  he  at  last,  "  I  knew  Ann's  voice  was 
a  wonder,  but  I  never  heard  her  sing  so  blithe  an'  happy- 
'earted.  I  wonder  why  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  it  is  this  wonderful  morning,"  said  I,  watch- 
ing the  flutter  of  her  gown  amid  the  thickets  across  the 
little  glade. 

"  Aye,  most  likely,  for  5t  is  surely  a  day  o'  glory,  lad, 
a  glory  as  is  a-shining  at  me  this  moment  out  o'  your  eyes, 
Peregrine,  singing  in  your  voice  — 

"  Jeremy,"  said  I,  reaching  out  to  grasp  his  grimy 
hand,  "O  Jeremy,  you  are  right.  Love  found  me  in  the 


Of  Two  Incomparable  Things      249 

dawn  and  this  morning  Diana  promised  to  be  my  —  wife. 
God  make  me  worthy ! " 

"  Amen,  lad,  amen ! "  said  the  Tinker. 

And  then  from  the  shade  of  the  willows  that  bordered 
the  stream  limped  the  small  and  shabby  yet  stately  form 
of  Lord  Wyvelstoke. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

THE  NOBLE  AET  OF   ORGAN-PLAYING 

CATCHING  sight  of  me  as  I  hurried  towards  him,  Lord 
Wyvelstoke  advanced,  a  vigorous  man  despite  his  lame- 
ness and  silvery  hair. 

"  Peregrine  —  who  was  it  ?  "  he  enquired,  slipping  his 
hand  within  my  arm  and  glancing  round  the  glade.  "  Who 
was  it  sang  so  divinely  —  can  it  be,  is  it  —  our  Diana? 
But  of  course  it  is  —  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  I,  wondering  at  his  eagerness. 

"  She  has  a  peerless,  a  wonderful  voice,  but  more — she 
sings  with  that  divine  intuition  that  is  genius.  I  must 
speak  with  her  —  meantime,  pray  present  your  friend." 

"  This,  sir,  is  my  good  and  kind  friend,  Jeremy  Jarvis ; 
Jerry,  his  Lordship,  the  Earl  of  Wyvelstoke." 

The  Earl  bowed  to  the  Tinker  with  his  usual  grave  cour- 
tesy, and  the  Tinker  (albeit  a  little  disquieted)  knuckled 
sooty  eyebrow  and  bobbed  tousled  head  to  the  Earl, 
humbly  respectful  yet  with  a  simple  dignity  all  his  own. 

"  You  seem  very  happily  situated  here,"  said  his  lord- 
ship, sweeping  the  shady  dingle  with  his  keen  gaze. 

"Why,  as  to  that,  sir  —  my  lord,"  said  Jeremy  with 
unwonted  diffidence,  "  I  fear  we  'm  a-trespassing  on  your 
land,  but  my  friend  Todd  —  Jessamy  assured  me  —  " 

"  Rest  assured,  friend  Jarvis !  None  of  my  keepers 
shall  disturb  you  —  " 

"Peregrine  —  O  Jerry,  dinner!  Come  while  it's  hot 
and  come  quick ! "  called  Diana  from  those  boskages  that 
screened  our  little  camp. 

"  It 's  liver  and  bacon,"  said  she,  busy  at  the  fire,  but 
beholding  our  companion,  she  set  down  the  frying  pan  and 
hastened  to  welcome  him  with  both  hands  outstretched. 

"  Why,  't  is  my  old  pal !"  she  cried,  whereupon  Jeremy 
blinked  and  seemed  to  swallow  hard. 


The  Noble  Art  of  Organ-playing    251 

"You're  just  in  time  for  a  bit  o'  liver  an'  bacon. 
Bring  another  plate,  Jerry." 

"But,  Ann,"  said  he,  hesitating  and  much  at  a  loss, 
"p'raps  his  lordship  won't  care  t'  eat  off  a  tin  plate  an' — " 

"Who?"  demanded  Diana,  turning,  with  the  frying 
pan  in  her  hand. 

"  His  lordship !  What,  don't  ye  know  this  gentleman's 
the  Earl  o'  Wy velstoke  ?  "  Diana  set  down  the  frying  pan 
and  turned  upon  his  lordship  with  a  frown. 

"  Is  this  true  ?  "  she  demanded.    "  Are  you  a  lord  ?  " 

"  I  am,  Diana." 

"  An  earl?  " 

"  I  confess  it.  But  always  your  pal,  I  trust,  notwith- 
standing —  " 

"WThy,  then  you  own  Wy  velstoke  Park?" 

"I  do." 

"And  — this  wood?" 

"Yes,  Diana." 

"An'  horses  an'  carriages  an'  houses,  I  suppose?" 

"  Yes,  child." 

"  Why,  then,  you  're  rich !  And  you  let  me  give  you 
a  guinea ! " 

"  A  treasure  dearer  to  me  than  all  the  rest ! "  he  an- 
swered gently ;  and  taking  out  the  coin  he  looked  down  at 
it,  smiling  wistfully. 

"And  I  thought  you  were  such  a  poor,  lonely  old 
soul  —  " 

"  So  I  was,  Diana,  and  so  I  should  be  without  your 
friendship." 

"  I  s'pose  you  don't  want  any  liver  an'  bacon,  do  you, 
lord?" 

"Why  not,  goddess?" 

"  Because  lords  an'  earls  don't  eat  liver  an'  bacon  off 
tin  plates,  do  they  ?  " 

"  You  behold  one  who  would  if  you  will  so  far  honour 
him,"  answered  the  Earl  with  one  of  his  stately  obeisances. 

"  You  might  have  told  me,  all  the  same ! "  said  Diana, 
pouting  a  little. 


252  Peregrine's  Progress 

"  Dear  child,  had  I  done  so  would  you  have  called  me 
your  old  pal?  It  is  a  title  dearer  to  me  than  any  other." 
Hereupon  she  brought  him  the  three-legged  stool  which, 
despite  his  protestations,  she  forced  him  to  take.  And 
so  we  began  dinner,  though  often  the  Tinker  would  pause, 
food-laden  jackknife  in  mid-air,  to  steal  amazed  and 
surreptitious  glances  at  his  lordship,  sitting  serenely, 
the  tin  plate  balanced  on  his  knees,  eating  with  remarkable 
appetite  and  gusto. 

"  D'  ye  like  it,  old  pal?  "  questioned  Diana  suddenly. 

"  Diana,"  answered  the  Ancient  Person  with  his  whim- 
sical look,  "words  are  sometimes  poor  and  inadequate  — 
I  like  it  beyond  expression." 

"  That 's  because  it 's  strange  to  you  an*  in  the  open 
air  —  " 

"  Nay,  child,  I  have  eaten  strange  meals  amid  strange 
people  in  strange,  wild  places  of  the  earth,  but  never  such 
a  meal  as  this." 

"  D'  ye  mean  foreign  places  —  across  the  sea  ?  "  ques- 
tioned Diana  eagerly. 

"  Yes,  I  have  seen  much  of  the  wonders  and  glories  of 
the  world,  vasty  deserts,  trackless  forests,  stupendous 
mountains,  mighty  rivers,  and  yet  —  and  yet  what  more 
wonderful  than  this  little  island  of  ours,  what  more  ten- 
derly beautiful  than  our  green,  English  countryside?  The 
thunderous  roar  of  plunging  cataracts,  the  cloud-capped 
pinnacles  of  mighty  mountains  may  fill  the  soul  with  awed 
and  speechless  wonder,  but  for  pure  joy  give  me  an  Eng- 
lish coppice  of  a  summer  evening  when  blackbird  and 
thrush  are  calling,  or  to  sit  and  hearken  to  the  immemorial 
music  of  a  brook —  Friend  Jarvis,  you  write  verses,  I 
believe?" 

"Lord,  sir  —  my  lord,"  answered  Jeremy,  his  bronzed 
cheek  flushing,  "how  should  you  know  that?" 

"  I  learned  the  fact  from  Peregrine  who  spoke  of  them 
in  such  high  praise  that  I  should  much  like  to  read  some 
of  them  if  you  would  suffer  me  —  " 

"Why,   sir,"  stammered  Jeremy,  "they're  wrote  on 


The  Noble  Art  of  Organ-playing    253 

such  scraps  an*  bits  o*  paper,  I  only  write  *em  to  please 
myself  an*  —  an'  —  " 

"  Because  he  must !  "  added  Diana.  "  You  see,  old  pal, 
Jerry  writes  poetry  like  the  birds  sing  and  brooks  flow, 
just  because  'tis  his  nature.  I  know  lots  of  his  verses  by 
heart  an'  I  love  all  of  'em,  but  I  like  this  about  the  Silent 
Places  best;  listen: 

'"He  that  the  great,  good  thing  would  know 
Must  to  the  Silent  Places  go, 
Leaving  wealth  and  state  behind 
Who  the  great  good  thing  would  find. 
Glories,  honours,  these  will  fade, 
Life  itself  's  a  phantom  shade ; 
But  the  soul  of  man  —  who  knoweth 
Whence  it  came  and  where  it  goeth. 
So,  God  of  Life,  I  pray  of  Thee 
Ears  to  hear  and  eyes  to  see. 
In  bubbling  brooks,  in  whispering  wind 
He  who  hath  ears   shall  voices  find, 
Telling  the  wonder  of  the  earth: 
The  awful  miracle  of  birth; 
Of  love  and  joy,  of  Life  and  Death, 
Of  things  that  were  ere  we  had  breath; 
Of  man's  soul  through  the  ages  growing, 
WThence  it  comes  or  whither  going, 
That  soul  of  God,  a  deathless  spark 
Unquenched  through  ages  wild  and  dark, 
Up-struggling  through  the  age-long  night 
Through  glooms  and  sorrows,  to  the  light. 
The  soul  that  marches,  age  to  age, 
On  slow  and  painful  pilgrimage 
Till  man  through  tears  and  strife  and  pain 
Shall  thus  his  Godhead  find  again. 
Of  such,  the  wind  in  lonely  tree 
The   murmurous   brook,   doth   tell   to   me. 
These  are  the  wonders  ye  may  know 
Who  to  the  Silent  Places  go; 
Who  these  with  reverent  foot  hath  trod 
May  meet  his  soul  and  walk  with  God.'  " 


254  Peregrine's  Progress 

"  Friend  Jarvis,"  said  the  Ancient  Person,  setting  down 
his  empty  platter  and  beginning  to  fill  his  pipe,  "Pere- 
grine was  exactly  right ;  you  are  a  most  astonishing  tinker. 
You,  sir,  are  a  poet  as  I  am  a  musician,  —  by  a  natural 
predisposition;  and  your  poetry  is  true  as  is  my  music 
because  it  is  simple;  for  what  is  Truth  but  Simplicity, 
that  which  touches  the  soul,  the  heart,  the  emotions  rather 
than  the  cold,  reasoning  intellect,  since  poetry,  but  more 
especially  music,  is  a  direct  appeal  to  and  expression  of, 
the  emotion?  Do  you  agree?" 

"  Why,  sir,"  answered  the  Tinker,  shaking  his  head  a 
little  sadly,  "  I  don't  know  aught  about  music,  d'  ye  see  — 

"  Fiddlestick,  man !  You  are  full  of  music.  Who  has 
not  heard  leaves  rustle  in  the  wind,  or  listened  to  the 
babble  of  a  brook ;  yet  to  the  ma j  ority  they  are  no  more 
than  what  they  seem  —  rustling  leaves,  a  babbling  brook 
—  but  to  you  and  me  these  are  an  inspiration,  voices  of 
Nature,  of  God,  of  the  Infinite,  urging  us  to  an  attempt 
to  express  the  inexpressible  —  is  it  not  so?" 

"  Why,  my  lord,"  quoth  the  Tinker,  chafing  blue  chin 
with  knife-handle,  "  since  you  put  it  that  way  I  —  I 
fancy  —  " 

"  Of  course  you  do !  "  nodded  his  lordship.  "  Take 
yonder  stream:  to  you  it  finds  a  voice  to  speak  of  the 
immemorial  past;  to  me  it  is  the  elemental  music  of  God. 
As  it  sings  to-day  so  has  it  sung  to  countless  generations 
and  mayhap,  in  earth's  dim  days,  taught  some  wild  man- 
monster  to  echo  something  of  its  melody  and  thus  per- 
chance came  our  first  music.  What  do  you  think?" 

"'Tis  a  wonderful  thought,  sir,  but  I  should  think 
birds  would  be  easier  to  imitate  than  a  brook  — " 

"  Possibly,  yes.  But  man's  first  lyrical  music  was  un- 
doubtedly an  imitation  of  the  voices  of  nature.  And  what 
is  music  after  all  but  an  infinite  speech  unbounded  by 
fettering  words,  an  auricular  presentment  of  the  other- 
wise indescribable,  for  what  words  may  fully  reveal  all 
the  wonder  of  Life,  the  awful  majesty  of  Death?  But 
music  can  and  does.  By  music  we  may  hold  converse 


;The  Noble  Art  of  Organ-playing    255 

with  the  Infinite.  Out  of  the  dust  came  man,  out  of  suffer- 
ing his  soul  and  from  his  soul  —  music.  You  apprehend 
me,  friend  Jarvis?" 

"  Here  an'  there,  my  lord.  I  —  I  mean,"  stammered  the 
Tinker,  a  little  at  a  loss,  "  I  understand  enough  to  wish 
I  could  hear  some  real  music  —  but  music  ain't  much  in 
a  tinker's  line  —  " 

"You  shall!"  exclaimed  his  lordship,  rising  suddenly. 
"  I  will  play  to  you,  and  after,  Diana  shall  bless  us  with 
the  glory  of  her  voice  if  she  will.  Your  arm,  Tinker. 
Leave  your  irons  and  hammers  awhile  and  come  with 
me  —  let  us  go.  Your  arm,  friend  Jarvis  !  " 

"  But,  sir  —  my  clothes,  my  lord !  "  gasped  Jeremy. 
«I  ain't  fit—"  " 

"  A  fiddlestick ! "  quoth  his  lordship.  "  Give  me  your 
arm,  pray."  So  limping  thus  beside  the  Tinker,  the  Earl 
of  Wyvelstoke  led  us  along  beside  the  brook  until  we 
presently  reached  a  grassy  ride.  Here  he  paused  and, 
taking  a  small  gold  whistle  that  hung  about  his  neck,  blew 
a  shrill  blast,  whereupon  ensued  the  sound  of  wheels  and 
creaking  harness,  and  a  phaeton  appeared  driven  by  a  man 
in  handsome  livery  who,  touching  smart  hat  to  his  shabby 
master,  brought  the  vehicle  to  a  halt,  into  which  we 
mounted  forthwith  and  away  we  drove.  Soon  before  us 
rose  stately  parapet,  battlement  and  turret  above  the 
green  of  trees  ancient  like  itself,  a  mighty  structure,  its 
frowning  grimness  softened  by  years.  Diana  viewed  mas- 
sive wall  and  tower  with  eyes  of  delighted  wonder,  then 
suddenly  turned  to  clasp  the  hand  of  the  slender,  shabby 
figure  beside  her. 

"  Poor  old  soul,  no  wonder  you  were  lonely ! "  she 
sighed,  whereupon  the  Earl  smiled  a  little  wistfully  and 
stooped  to  kiss  her  sunburnt  fingers  in  his  stately  fashion. 

The  carriage  stopping,  behold  the  sedate  Atkinson  (who 
manifested  not  the  least  surprise  at  our  incongruous  ap- 
pearance) a  square-shouldered,  square-faced  person  he, 
whose  features  wore  an  air  of  resolution,  notwithstanding 
his  soft  voice  and  deferential  ways. 


256  Peregrine's   Progress 

At  a  word  from  the  Earl  he  ushered  us  in  by  a  side 
entrance,  through  a  long  and  noble  gallery,  where  stood 
many  effigies  in  bright  armour,  backed  by  pictures  of  be- 
wigged  gentlemen  who  smirked  or  scowled  upon  us,  and 
fair  darnes  in  ruff  and  farthingale  who  smiled,  or  ladies 
bare-bosomed  who  ogled  through  artful  ringlets ;  across 
panelled  rooms  and  arras-hung  chambers,  to  lofty  and 
spacious  hall,  with  a  great,  many-piped  organ  at  one  end. 
Here  his  lordship  made  us  welcome  with  a  simple  and 
easy  courtesy,  himself  setting  chairs  for  Diana  and  the 
Tinker. 

*'  Sit  ye,  friend  Jarvis,"  said  he,  "  and  if  you  care  to 
smoke,  pray  do  so,  you  will  find  tobacco  in  the  jar  on 
the  cabinet  yonder.  As  for  you,  my  goddess  of  the  Silent 
Places,  yonder  comes  my  admirable  valet  with  fruit  and 
sweetmeats  for  your  delectation;  you,  Peregrine,  have 
Diana  beside  you.  Listen  now,  and  you  shall  hear  the 
joy  of  Life  and  Youth  and  Self-sacrifice.  Blow,  Atkin- 
son !  "  So  saying,  he  crossed  the  wide  hall  and  seated  him- 
self at  the  great  instrument. 

I  saw  his  white  fingers  busy  among  the  many  stops,  then 
his  slim  hands  fell  upon  the  keys  and  forth  gushed  a 
torrent  of  sweet  sound,  a  peal  of  triumphant  joy  that 
thrilled  me;  great,  rolling  chords  beneath  and  through 
which  rippled  an  ecstasy  of  silvery  notes,  whose  magic 
conjured  to  my  imagination  a  dew-spangled  morning 
joyous  with  sun  and  thrilling  with  the  glad  song  of  birds 
new-waked,  —  a  green  and  golden  world  wherein  one  sped 
to  meet  me,  white  arms  outstretched  in  love,  one  herself 
as  fresh  and  sweet  as  the  morning. 

But  now  the  organ  notes  changed,  the  pealing  rapture 
sank  into  a  sighing  melody  inexpressibly  sweet  and  softly 
tender,  my  vision's  smiling  lips  quivered  to  drooping  sad- 
ness, the  bright  eyes  grew  dimmed  with  tears ;  and  heark- 
ening to  the  tender  passion  of  this  melody,  full  of  poignant 
yearning  and  fond  regret,  I  knew  that  here  was  parting 
and  farewell.  And  lo  !  She,  my  Spirit  of  Love,  was  gone, 
and  I  alone  in  a  desolate  wilderness  to  grieve  and  wait,  to 


The  Noble  Art  of  Organ-playing    257 

strive  and  hope  through  weary  length  of  days.  And 
listening  to  these  soft,  plaintive  notes,  I  bowed  my  head 
with  eyes  brimful  of  burning  tears  and  heart  full  of  sud- 
den, chilling  dread  of  the  future,  and  glancing  furtively 
towards  Diana's  beautiful,  enraptured  face,  I  clenched 
my  fists  and  prayed  desperate,  wordless  supplications 
against  any  such  parting  or  farewell.  And  then,  in  this 
moment,  grief  and  fear  and  heart-break  were  lost,  for- 
gotten, swept  utterly  away  as  the  wailing,  tender  notes 
were  'whelmed  in  the  triumphant  melody  that  pealed  forth, 
louder,  more  sublimely  joyous  than  ever.  She  was  back, 
within  my  arms,  upon  my  heart,  but  a  greater,  nobler 
She,  mine  for  ever  and  the  world  all  glorious  about  us. 

The  rapture  ended  suddenly  on  a  note  of  triumph,  and 
Diana,  leaning  to  me,  was  looking  at  me  through  glisten- 
ing tears,  our  hands  met  and  clung  and  never  a  word  be- 
tween us ;  then  we  glanced  up  to  meet  the  Ancient  Person's 
keen,  smiling  glance  and  his  voice  was  gentle  when  he  spoke. 

"  God  bless  you,  children !  Then  hearing,  you  saw  and 
understood?  No  true  love  can  be  that  knows  nothing  of 
pain,  for  pain  ennobles  love  and  teaches  self-sacrifice  and 
this  surely  is  the  noblest  good  of  all.  And  now,  friend 
Jarvis,  I  will  endeavour  to  show  you  something  of  the 
soul's  upward  pilgrimage,  the  working  out  of  man's  salva- 
tion as  pictured  in  your  verse." 

He  turned  back  to  the  organ  and  from  its  quivering 
pipes  rose  a  series  of  noble  chords,  stately  and  solemn, 
a  hymn-like  measure,  rolling  in  awful  majesty,  shattered 
all  at  once  by  a  wild  confusion  of  screaming  discords  that 
yet  gradually  resolved  into  a  wailing  melody  of  passionate 
despair  beneath  which  I  seemed  to  hear  the  relentless 
tramp  of  countless  marching  feet  with,  ever  and  anon,  a 
far,  faint  echo  of  that  first  grand  and  stately  motive. 

And  as  I  listened  it  seemed  I  watched  the  age-old  strug- 
gle between  might  and  right,  the  horrors  of  man's  perse- 
cution of  man,  the  agonies  of  flaming  cities,  of  Death  and 
Shame,  of  dungeon  and  torment.  I  seemed  to  hear  the 
thunder  of  conflicting  hosts,  the  groans  of  dying  martyrs, 


258  Peregrine's   Progress 

to  sense  all  the  sweat  and  blood,  the  agony  and  travail  of 
these  long  and  bitter  years  wherein  man  wrought  and 
strove  through  tears  and  tribulation,  onward  and  up  to 
nobler  ideals,  working  out  his  own  salvation  and  redemp- 
tion from  his  baser  self.  Suddenly,  above  this  wild  and 
rushing  melody,  rose  a  single  dulcet  voice,  soft  yet 
patiently  insistent,  oft  repeated  with  many  variations, 
like  some  angel  singing  a  promise  of  better  things  to 
come,  —  a  voice  which,  as  the  wailing  tumult  died,  swelled 
to  a  chorus  of  rejoicing,  louder  and  louder,  resolving  back 
into  that  majestic  hymn-like  measure,  but  soaring  now  in 
joyous  triumph,  rising,  deepening  to  an  ecstasy  of  praise. 

And  then  I  was  staring  at  the  slender,  shabby  figure 
who  sat,  hands  on  knees,  glancing  down  into  the  Tinker's 
awed  face. 

"  Well,  friend  Jarvis  ?  "  he  questioned,  with  his  kindly 
smile. 

"  Ah,  sir !  "  cried  the  Tinker.  "  Music  can  surely  say 
more  than  words  ever  will." 

"  O  Peregrine ! "  sighed  Diana  under  her  breath,  "  has 
it  told  you  how  I  love  you  —  all  those  things  that  I  can 
never  tell  you?"  And  then  she  was  away,  to  seat  her- 
self upon  the  organ-bench  beside  our  host,  while  he  ex- 
plained something  of  the  wonders  of  the  noble  instrument, 
its  pedals,  stops  and  triple  rank  of  keys. 

"  Lord,  Peregrine !  "  said  the  Tinker  in  my  ear.  "  This 
is  a  day  to  remember,  this  is  a  —  my  soul!"  he  exclaimed 
and  fell  suddenly  mute  as  a  gorgeous  person  in  powder 
and  silk  stockings  entered,  bearing  tea  upon  a  silver  tray ; 
a  somewhat  nervous  and  high-strung  person  he  seemed,  for 
catching  sudden  vision  of  the  grimy  Tinker's  shock  head 
and  my  shirt  sleeves,  his  protuberant  eyes  took  on  a  glassy 
look,  he  gulped  audibly,  his  knees  bent  and  he  set  down 
his  burden  with  a  jingling  crash. 

The  Earl  turned  sharply;  the  footman  began  setting 
out  the  tea  things. 

"I  've  never  seen  an  organ  close  to  before,"  said  Diana, 
"though  I've  often  stopped  outside  a  church  to  listen." 


[The  Noble  Art  of  Organ-playing   259 

The  footman's  hands  grew  vague,  his  glassy  eyes  turned 
themselves  upon  Jeremy  in  fascinated  horror,  beneath 
which  disdainful  scrutiny  Jeremy  flushed,  uneasily  con- 
scious of  work-grimed  hands  and  clothes. 

"  Of  course  I  shan't  mind  singing  to  you,"  said  Diana, 
"  because  you  are  my  old  pal." 

The  footman  dropped  a  plate;  stooping  for  this,  he 
brought  down  three  or  four  spoons  and  forks  in  his  agita- 
tion. 

"  Atkinson ! '' 

"  My  lord ! "  answered  Atkinson,  appearing  suddenly. 

"  What  is  this  ? "  demanded  his  lordship,  fixing  the 
gorgeous  person  with  terrible  eye. 

"The  third  footman,  I  believe,  my  lord." 

"  Send  him  out  —  he  annoys  me." 

The  gorgeous  person  having  taken  himself  off,  Jeremy 
sighed  in  huge  relief  but  glanced  furtively  askance  from 
dainty  china  and  snowy  linen  to  his  own  grimy  hands  and 
smirched  garments;  perceiving  which  embarrassment  the 
Earl  hastened  to  set  him  at  his  ease: 

"  John  Bunyan  was  a  tinker  also,  friend  Jarvis,"  said 
he,  as  we  drew  to  the  table.  And  a  cheery  meal  we  made  of 
it,  for  what  with  his  lordship's  tactful,  easy  courtesy  and 
Diana's  serene  unconsciousness,  who  could  worry  over 
such  trifles  as  grimy  hands  or  shirt  sleeves;  and  if  the 
Tinker  be-jammed  his  fingers  or  Diana  drank  from  her 
saucer,  she  did  it  with  such  assured  grace  as  charmed  me, 
and  when  his  lordship  followed  her  example,  I  loved  him 
for  the  courtly  gentleman  he  was. 

"  You  have  studied  and  thought  deeply,  I  think,  friend 
Jarvis?"  said  his  lordship.  "You  reverence  books?" 

"Aye,  sir — my  lord.  I  used  to  peddle  'em  once,  but 
I  read  more  than  I  ever  sold." 

"  Ah,  yes,"  said  Diana ;  "  't  was  our  good,  kind  Jerry 
taught  me  how  to  read  and  write  when  I  lived  wi»  the 
Folk." 

"And  what  of  your  parents,  child?" 

"I  only  remember  old  Azor." 


260  Peregrine's   Progress 

"  But  you  are  not  of  the  Zingari,  I  think?  " 

"I  don't  know,  old  pal — and  what's  it  matter  —  O 
.Terry,  the  shin  o'  beef !  "  she  exclaimed,  clasping  her  hands. 
"  Jessamy  's  back  by  this  and  it  ought  to  be  in  the  pot. 
So  if  you  want  me  to  sing  —  " 

"  We  do ! "  said  his  lordship,  and  rising  he  brought  her 
to  the  organ;  there,  standing  beside  him  while  he  played 
a  hushed  accompaniment,  she  sang,  at  my  suggestion,  that 
same  wild  gipsy  air  which  had  so  stirred  me  once  before 
in  the  wood.  But  to-day,  confined  within  these  surround- 
ing walls,  her  voice  seemed  to  me  even  more  glorious,  so 
softly  pure  and  plaintively  sweet,  anon  soaring  in  trilling 
ecstasy  —  until  the  swelling  glory  sank,  languished  to  a 
sigh  and  was  gone ;  and  I  for  one  lost  in  awed  wonder  and 
delight.  For  to-day  she  sang  with  all  that  tender,  un- 
affected sweetness,  all  that  passionate  intensity  that  was 
part  of  her  strange  self. 

"  Diana,"  said  his  lordship  gravely,  "  God  has  entrusted 
you  with  a  great  and  beneficent  power;  you  have  a  rare 
and  wonderful  voice  such  as  might  stir  mankind  to  loftier 
thought  and  nobler  ideal  and  thus  make  the  world  a  better 
place.  Child,  how  will  you  acquit  yourself  of  this  respon- 
sibility? Will  you  make  the  most  of  your  great  gift, 
using  it  for  the  benefit  of  countless  others,  or  let  it  atrophy 
and  perish  unheard  —  ?  " 

"  Perish  ? "  exclaimed  Diana,  opening  her  eyes  very 
wide.  "  Old  pal,  what  do  you  mean?  " 

"  I  mean,  Diana,  that  every  one  of  the  gifts  that  nature 
has  lavished  upon  us  —  speech,  sight,  thought,  motion  — 
would  all  become  atrophied  and  fail  us  utterly  without  use. 
The  more  we  think  and  the  more  varied  our  thoughts,  the 
greater  our  intellect;  he  that  would  win  a  race  must  ex- 
ercise his  muscles  constantly,  and  this  is  especially  true  in 
regard  to  singing.  Have  you  no  thought,  no  will  to  be- 
come a  great  singer,  Diana?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  softly,  "  I  might  ha'  liked  it  once,1 
but  —  not  now  —  because,  you  see,  I've  found  a  —  better 
thing,  old  pal,  and  nothing  else  matters .' " 


The  Noble  Art  of  Organ-playing   261 

"  Child,"  he  questioned  gently,  "  may  I  be  privileged  to 
know  what  this  better  thing  may  be  ?  " 

"  Yes  —  yes  ! "  she  answered,  stooping  to  catch  his  hand 
in  her  sweet,  impulsive  way  and  foncLle  it  to  her  soft  cheek. 
"Love  has  come  to  us  —  Peregrine  and  me,  he  —  knows 
at  last,  though  I  think  you  had  guessed  already  because 
you  played  our  love  into  your  music,  better  —  oh,  better 
than  I  can  ever  tell  it.  Only  it 's  here  in  my  heart  and  in 
the  sunshine ;  the  birds  sing  of  it  and  —  and  —  oh,  how  can 
I  think  of  any  tiling  else  ?  " 

The  Ancient  Person  laid  gentle  hand  upon  her  glossy 
hair.  "  Wait,  dear  child,  and  Love,  I  think,  shall  open  to 
you  a  nobler  living,  shall  give  you  pinions  to  soar 
awhile  —  " 

"How  —  what  d'ye  mean,  old  pal?" 

"Nay,  ask  Peregrine,"  answered  his  lordship,  shaking 
his  head.  "  Only  very  sure  am  I  that  love  which  is  true 
and  everlasting  is  infinitely  unselfish." 

And  presently  we  took  our  leave,  the  Earl  attending  to 
see  us  into  the  phaeton  and  bid  us  adieu ;  and  all  the  way 
back  I  must  needs  ponder  his  definition  of  love  and  wonder 
exactly  what  he  had  meant. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

OF  A  SHADOW  IN   THE  SUN 

AND  now  ensued  a  halcyon  season,  dewy  dawns  wherein  I 
bathed  and  sparred  with  Jessamy,  long,  sunny  days  full 
of  labour  and  an  ever-growing  joy  of  Diana's  radiant 
loveliness,  nights  of  healthful,  dreamless  slumber  beneath 
the  stars. 

Sometimes,  when  work  was  slack,  I  would  walk  far  afield 
with  Diana  for  my  companion,  or  we  would  jog  to  market 
with  the  Tinker  in  the  four-wheeled  cart,  hearkening  to 
his  shrewd  animadversions  upon  men  and  life  in  general; 
and  Diana's  slim  hand  in  mine. 

Indeed  this  poor  pen  may  never  adequately  set  down 
all  the  happiness  of  these  care-free,  swift-passing  days, 
and  how  may  I  hope  to  describe  Diana's  self  or  the  joy  of 
her  companionship,  a  sweet  intimacy  that  did  but  teach 
me  to  love  her  the  more  for  her  changing  moods  and  swift 
intuitions,  her  quickness  of  perception,  her  deep  wisdom, 
her  warm  impetuousness  and  the  thousand  contradictions 
that  made  her  what  she  was. 

So  grew  my  love  and  with  it  a  deep  reverence  for  her 
innate  and  virginal  purity.  It  touched  me  deeply  to  note 
with  what  painful  care  she  set  herself  to  correct  the  gram- 
matical errors  and  roughness  of  her  speech;  often  she 
would  fall  to  a  sighful  despondency  because  of  her  igno- 
rance and  at  such  times  it  was,  I  think,  that  I  loved  her 
best,  vowing  I  would  not  change  her  for  any  proud  lady 
that  was  or  ever  had  been;  whereof  ensued  such  conver- 
sations as  the  following: 

DIANA.  But  when  I  am  your  wife  we  shall  live  in  a  fine 
house,  I  suppose. 

MYSELF.    Would  this  distress  you? 

DIANA.  And  meet  grand  folk,  I  suppose  —  earls  and 
lords  and  —  and  that  sort  of  thing? 


Of  a  Shadow  in  the  Sun       263 

MYSELF.     It  is  likely. 

DIANA.     Shall  we  —  must  we  have  —  servants? 

MYSELF.    To  be  sure. 

DIANA  (dismally).  That's  it!  I  shouldn't  mind  the 
earls  s'  much — it's  the  grand  servants  as  would  bother 
me.  And  then  —  O  Peregrine  —  if  ever  I  talked  wrong  or 
—  acted  wrong  —  not  like  a  lady  should  —  O  Peregrine, 
would  you  be  —  ashamed  o'  me? 

MYSELF.    No,  no  —  I  swear  it ! 

DIANA.  I  never  wanted  to  be  a  lady  —  but  I  do  now, 
Peregrine,  for  your  sake. 

MYSELF.  You  are  good  and  brave  and  noble,  Diana, 
and  this  is  better  than  all  the  fme-ladyishness  in  the 
world. 

DIANA  (wistfully).  Well,  I  wish  I  was  a  lady,  all  the 
same. 

MYSELF.  You  will  soon  learn,  you  who  are  so  quick  and 
clever. 

It  was  at  this  period  that  she  began  to  purchase  books 
and  study  them  with  passionate  earnestness,  more  espe- 
cially one,  a  thin,  delicate  volume  that  piqued  my  curiosity 
since,  judging  by  her  puckered  brow  and  profound  ab- 
straction, this  seemed  to  trouble  and  perplex  her  not  a 
little. 

"  Peregrine,"  she  enquired  suddenly  one  morning,  as  I 
leaned,  somewhat  short  of  breath,  upon  the  long  shaft  of 
the  sledge-hammer,  "  Peregrine,  what 's  a  moo  ?  " 

"A  moo?"  I  repeated,  a  little  startled,  "why,  the 
sound  a  cow  makes,  I  should  think." 

"  No,  it  can't  be  that,"  said  Diana,  shaking  her  head 
and  frowning  at  the  open  page  of  that  same  slim  book  I 
have  mentioned,  "  it  can't  have  anything  to  do  with  a  cow, 
Peregrine,  because  that 's  what  a  grand  lady  does  when 
she  enters  a  ballroom ;  it  says  she  moos  slightly  — 

"Lord,  Ann!"  exclaimed  the  Tinker.  "What's  she 
want  to  do  that  for?  A  moo 's  a  beller,  as  Peregrine  says, 
but  who  ever  heard  of  a  grand  lady  bellerin*  in  a  ballroom 
or  out  —  " 


264  Peregrine's  Progress 

"  I  said  moo ! "  retorted  Diana.  "And  it 's  in  this  book." 
"  May  I  see  ?  "  I  enquired.     Obediently  Diana  rose  and 
tendered  me  the  volume,  marking  the  paragraph  with  her 
finger,  and  at  her  command,  I  read  aloud  as  follows. 

"  *  UPON  ENTERING  A  BALLROOM. 

The  head  should  be  carried  stately,  the  bust  well- 
poised,  the  arms  disposed  gracefully.  The  gait 
should  be  swimming,  the  head  graciously  aslant  and 
the  lips  slightly  moue.' " 

"  Well  ? "  demanded  Diana,  glancing  at  Jeremy  defi- 
antly. "  Now  what 's  it  mean,  Peregrine  ?  " 

" '  MoueJ  "  I  explained  gravely,  "  is  a  French  word 
signifying  *  to  pout '  the  lips." 

"Which  be  a  bit  different  to  bellerin'  !"  chuckled  the 
Tinker.  Diana  merely  glanced  at  him,  whereupon  he  be- 
gan to  hammer  away  lustily,  in  spite  of  which  I  fancied 
I  heard  him  chuckle  again.  Turning  to  the  title  page  of 
the  little  book  I  saw  this : 

ETIQUETTE  FOR  THE  FAIR  SEX 
BEING  HINTS  ON  FEMININE  MANNERS  &  DEPORTMENT. 

BY  AN  ACKNOWLEDGED  SciON   OF 

THE  BON  TON. 

"  It 's  a  rather  terrible  book,  I  think,"  sighed  Diana. 

"  Not  a  doubt  of  it,"  said  I.  "  What  do  you  think, 
Jerry?" 

"  Aye,"  he  nodded,  "  I  used  to  sell  that  book  once,  or 
one  like  it  —  " 

"  I  mean,"  explained  Diana,  "  it  will  be  terribly  hard  to 
teach  myself  to  do  everything  it  says  — " 

"  Indeed,  I  should  think  so,"  I  nodded. 

"  You  see,"  she  mourned,  "I  —  I  did  n't  act  a  bit  right 
when  you  —  told  me  you — loved  me  —  " 

"  Ah,  but  you  did,  Diana  —  " 

"  No,  Peregrine,  I  was  quite  wrong  and  oh,  most  un- 
ladylike ! " 


Of  a  Shadow  in  the  Sun       265 

"How  so?" 

"Well,  I  didn't  tremble  with  maiden  modesty  or  yield 
my  hand  coyly  and  by  degrees,  or  droop  my  lashes,  or 
falter  with  my  breath  —  or  —  " 

"  Why  in  the  world  should  you?  " 

"  Because  all  ladies  must  do  that  —  let  me  show  you." 
So  saying  she  took  the  book,  turned  over  a  leaf  or  so,  and 
putting  it  into  my  hand,  bade  me  read  aloud,  which  I  did, 
as  follows: 

"  *  UPON  RECEIVING  A  PROPOSAL  OF  MARRIAGE. 
On  this  trying  occasion,  should  the  answer  be  in  the 
affirmative,  yield  the  hand  coyly  and  by  degrees  to 
the  passion  of  the  happy  suitor's  lips;  at  the  same 
time  the  lashes  must  droop,  the  whole  form  tremble 
with  maiden  modesty,  the  breath  must  falter  and  the 
bosom  surge  a  little,  though  perceptibly  — ' ' 

My  voice  faltered  and  in  spite  of  my  efforts  I  burst 
out  laughing,  while  Jeremy  began  to  hammer  again ;  where- 
upon Diana  wrested  the  book  from  me  and  stood,  flushed 
and  angry,  viewing  me  in  lofty  disdain. 

"  O  Diana,"  I  pleaded,  "  don't  be  offended,  and  don't  — 
do  not  trouble  your  dear  head  over  that  foolish  book  — " 

"  Foolish ! "  she  exclaimed  indignantly.  "  Why,  it 's 
to  teach  ladies  how  to  behave,  and  written  by  —  " 

"  By  a  snuffy  old  rascal  in  some  pothouse,  like  as  not, 
Diana  — "  Here  she  turned  and  hasted  away,  but  I 
sped  after  her  and  seeing  the  quiver  of  her  lips  and  her 
dear  eyes  a-swim  with  tears,  my  own  grew  moist  also. 

"O  Peregrine,"  sighed  she,  "I  thought  the  book  was 
foolish  too  —  but  for  your  sake  —  to  be  a  lady  —  " 

"  O  girl !  "  I  cried,  clasping  her  to  me.  "  Dear  goddess 
of  the  Silent  Places,  you  are  above  all  such  silly  petti- 
nesses as  this  book;  no  woodland  nymph  or  dryad  could 
ever  learn  such  paltry  affectations  and  Diana  herself 
would  look  a  fool  with  a  fan  or  a  reticule.  It  is  your  own 
sweet,  natural  self  I  love,  just  as  you  are  and  for  what 
you  are." 

"  But  you  're  a  gentleman  and  I  ought  to  be  a  lady." 


266  Peregrine's  Progress 

"  Be  my  own  goddess  Diana,  and  let  me  worship  you  as 
such." 

"  Why,  then,  let  me  go,  Peregrine,  for  your  goddess 
has  the  supper  to  prepare !  "  Reluctantly  I  obeyed  her, 
and  coming  back,  found  the  Tinker  seated  upon  his  anvil, 
lost  in  a  profound  meditation. 

"What  is  it,  Jerry?"  I  asked  him,  for  he  had  sighed 
deeply. 

"  Ah,  Peregrine,"  said  he,  without  lifting  his  head, 
"oh,  lad,  lad  —  I've  missed  more  than  I  thought  — 
Love's  a  wonderful  thing,  far  better  and  more  beautiful 
than  I  ever  dreamed  it ;  pain  and  grief  lose  half  their 
bitterness  when  Love  looks  at  us  from  a  woman's  eyes  and 
Death  itself  would  come  kinder  —  less  dreadful,  for  the 
touch  o'  the  loved  hand,  the  sound  o'  the  loved  voice  when 
the  shadows  gather.  And  —  I  might  ha'  had  this  blessing 
once  —  for  the  takin'  —  ah,  Peregrine  —  if  I'd  only 
known,  lad,  if  I  'd  only  known ! " 

O  joyous  season  of  sweet  simplicity,  of  homely  kindliness 
and  good-fellowship!  Would  to  God  this  carpet  beneath 
my  feet  might  change  to  velvet  moss  and  springy  turf, 
these  walls  to  the  trees  and  whispering  boskage  I  grew  to 
love  so  well,  this  halting  pen  to  the  smooth  shaft  of  sledge 
hammer  or  the  well-worn  crank  of  the  Tinker's  little  forge, 
if  I  might  but  behold  again  her  who  trod  those  leafy 
ways  with  the  stately,  vigorous  grace  of  Dian's  very  self, 
she  who  worked  and  wrought  and  sang  beside  me  with  love 
for  me  in  her  deep  eyes  and  thrilling  in  the  glory  of  her 
voice;  she  who  sped  light-footed  to  greet  me  in  the  dawn, 
who  clung  to  kiss  me  "  good  night "  amid  the  shadows. 
O  season  of  joy  so  swiftly  sped,  to-day  merging  into  yes- 
terday (how  should  I  guess  you  were  so  soon  to  end?), 
gone  from  me  ere  I  had  fully  realised. 

A  hot,  stilly  afternoon  full  of  the  drowsy  hum  of  in- 
sects and  droning  bees ;  birds  chirped  sleepily  from  motion- 
less tree  and  thicket;  even  the  brook  seemed  lulled  to  a 
slumberous  hush. 


Of  a  Shadow  in  the  Sun          267 

Jessamy  was  away  hard  on  the  track  of  his  Satanic 
antagonist,  the  Tinker  had  driven  off  to  buy  fresh  provi- 
sions, and  I  sat  watching  Diana's  dripping  hands  and 
shapely  brown  arms  where  she  scrubbed,  wrung  out,  and 
hung  up  to  dry  certain  of  our  garments,  for  it  was  washing 
day. 

"  Dear,"  said  I  at  last,  "  when  shall  we  be  married  ?  " 

"  Lord,  Peregrine,  how  sudden  you  are !  "  she  answered, 
as  if  I  had  never  broached  the  subj  ect  before. 

"  Shall  it  be  next  week?  " 

"  No,  indeed !  " 

"  Well,  then,  the  week  after?  " 

"No,  Peregrine,  not — not  until  I  am  fit  to  be  your 
wife  —  " 

"  That  of  course  is  now,  Diana,  this  very  moment ! " 

Here,  having  tossed  back  a  loosened  tress  of  glossy  hair, 
she  shook  grave  head  at  me. 

"  I  must  be  sure  I  am  —  I  must  know  myself  a  little  — 
more  fit  —  " 

"  A  month,  Diana ! " 

"  Two,  Peregrine !  " 

"  We  will  get  married  in  a  month  and  camp  hereabouts 
in  these  silent  places  all  the  summer.  And  when  winter 
comes,  I'll  buy  a  little  cottage  somewhere,  anywhere  — 
wherever  you  choose  —  " 

"  Even  then  I  —  should  n't  be  quite  happy,  Peregrine." 

"Why  not?" 

"Well  —  because!" 

"Because  of  what?" 

"  Just  because ! " 

"  Now  you  are  provoking !  " 

"Am  I,  Peregrine?" 

"  And  very  stubborn." 

"  That 's  what  old  Azor  used  to  say  —  " 

"  Why  won't  you  marry  me  and  be  done  with  it?  " 

"  Why  should  I?    Are  n't  you  happy  as  we  are?  " 

"  Of  course,  but  to  know  you  mine  for  always  would  be 
greater  happiness." 


268  Peregrine's  Progress 

"  Oh,  be  content  —  a  little  longer.  There 's  lots  o'  time 
—  and  I  'm  learning  —  I  speak  a  —  bit  better,  don't  you 
think?" 

"Is  this  your  reason  for  delay,  Diana?  " 

"  Some  of  it.  I  want  you  to  be  —  a  little  proud  of  me,  if 
you  can  —  if  you  ever  grew  ashamed  of  me  —  it  would 
kill  me,  I  think  —  " 

"  Sweet  soul ! "  I  cried,  leaping  to  my  feet  to  clasp  her 
in  eager  arms.  "  Why  are  you  grown  so  humble  ?  " 

"  It 's  love,  I  think,  Peregrine  —  oh,  mind  the  basin !  " 
But  I  was  not  to  be  stayed  and,  sure  enough,  over  went 
the  great  tin  basin,  scattering  wet  garments  and  soapy 
water  broadcast. 

"  There !  "  sighed  Diana  tragically. 

"  What  of  it?  "  said  I,  and  kissed  her.  "  Why  will  you 
kiss  me  so  seldom,  Diana? ' 

"  I  ought  to  have  done  the  washing  in  the  brook  like  I 
always  do." 

"Don't  you  like  me  to  kiss  you,  Diana?" 

"  Yes  —  and  you  've  spilt  all  the  water  — " 

"  I  '11  bring  you  more.  But  why  will  you  so  seldom 
suffer  me  to  —  " 

"  Because  —  and  take  the  large  pail,  Peregrine,  and 
take  it  now  —  here  's  these  four  shirts  ought  to  be  hanging 
out  to  dry  —  so  hurry,  hurry!  Get  the  water  from  the 
pool  beyond  the  big  tree,  the  stream  runs  clearer  there  ! " 

This  pool  was  at  some  little  distance,  but  away  I  went, 
happy  in  her  service,  swinging  the  heavy  bucket  and  hum- 
ming to  myself,  as  care-free  and  light-hearted  as  any  youth 
in  Christendom,  and  presently  reached  the  pool.  I  was 
stooping,  in  the  act  of  filling  the  bucket,  when  I  paused, 
arrested  by  a  sudden,  vague  indefinable  sound  that  puzzled 
me  to  account  for  and  set  me  idly  speculating  whence  it 
came  and  what  it  might  be;  so  I  filled  the  bucket  and  then, 
all  in  a  moment,  though  why  I  cannot  explain,  puzzlement 
changed  to  swift  and  sudden  dread  and,  dropping  the 
bucket,  I  began  to  run,  and  with  every  stride  my  alarm 
grew,  and  to  this  was  added  horror  and  a  great  passion  <pf 


Of  a  Shadow  in  the  Sun       269 

rage.  Panting,  I  reached  the  dingle  at  last  to  behold 
Diana  struggling  in  the  arms  of  a  man,  and  he  that  same 
fine  gentleman  who  had  accosted  her  at  "  The  Chequers." 
They  were  swaying  together  close-grappled,  her  knife- 
hand  gripped  in  his  sinewy  fingers,  his  evil  face  smiling 
down  into  hers ;  and  I  burned  with  wilder  fury  to  see  her 
tumbled  hair  against  his  coat  and  her  garment  wrenched 
from  throat  and  white  shoulder. 

Then  as  I  sprang,  with  no  eyes  but  for  this  man,  a  mas- 
terful hand  gripped  me,  a  commanding  voice  spoke  in  my 
ear. 

"  Back  —  stand  back,  boy ! " 

Turning  to  free  myself,  I  beheld  the  Earl  of  Wyvelstoke, 
but  now  in  his  look  and  bearing  was  that  which  halted  me 
in  awed  amaze. 

"  Devereux ! "  said  he,  not  loudly  but  in  voice  so  terrible 
that  the  man  started  and,  loosing  Diana,  sprang  back  to 
glare  at  the  speaker,  heedless  of  Diana's  blazing  fury  and 
threatening  knife.  "  Stop,  Diana !  "  commanded  the  Earl. 
"  Come  here  and  leave  this  unhanged  ruffian  to  me  — 
come,  I  say ! "  Humbly  she  obeyed,  shrinking  a  little  be- 
neath his  lordship's  eyes,  to  creep  into  the  clasp  of  my 
arm. 

And  so  they  faced  each  other,  the  stranger  pale  and 
coldly  self-possessed,  the  Earl,  his  slender  figure  erect,  one 
hand  in  the  bosom  of  his  shabby  coat,  his  countenance 
placid,  though  frowning  a  little,  but  in  his  eyes  a  glare  to 
daunt  the  boldest. 

"  Devereux ! "  he  repeated  in  the  same  leisured,  even 
tone.  "  Murderer  —  ravisher,  I  followed  you,  and  by  God 
you  have  betrayed  yourself ! " 

"  Ancient  dotard !  "  smiled  the  other.  "  You  babble  like 
the  poor,  doddering  imbecile  you  appear  —  my  name  is 
Haredale !  " 

"  Liar !  "  said  the  Earl,  softly.  "  I  never  forget  faces, 
good  or  evil,  hence  I  know  you  for  the  loathsome  vermin, 
the  obscene  and  unnarneable  thing  you  are ! ' 

The  stranger's  pale  face  grew  dreadfully  suffused,  his 


270  Peregrine's  Progress 

lips  curled  from  gnashing  teeth  and,  snatching  up  the 
heavy  riding-whip  that  lay  at  his  feet,  he  strode  towards 
his  lordship. 

A  deafening  report  —  a  gush  of  smoke,  and  the  oncom- 
ing figure  stumbled,  checked  uncertainly  and  stood  sway- 
ing, right  arm  dangling  helplessly,  and  I  saw  blood  welling 
through  the  sleeve  of  his  fine  coat  and  dribbling  from  his 
finger  ends ;  but  he  stood  heedless  of  the  wound,  his  burning 
gaze  fixed  upon  the  grim  and  silent  figure  before  him. 
Once  it  seemed  he  strove  to  speak  but  no  words  came,  and 
slowly  he  reached  a  fumbling  hand  to  clasp  uncertain  fin- 
gers above  the  gushing  wound. 

Slipping  from  my  hold,  Diana  took  a  step  towards  him, 
but  his  lordship's  voice  stopped  her. 

"  Leave  him,  girl !  Touch  him  not  —  do  not  sully  your 
maidenhood  with  thing  so  vile.  Let  him  crawl  hence  as 
best  he  may.  Begone,  beastly  villain ! "  he  commanded, 
with  imperious  gesture  of  the  smoking  pistol,  "  and  be  suf- 
ficiently thankful  that  my  bullet  sought  your  dastardly 
arm  and  not  your  pitiless  black  heart !  Go,  and  instantly, 
lest  I  be  tempted  to  change  my  mind  and  rid  the  world  of 
thing  so  evil !  " 

Speechlessly  the  stranger  turned,  hand  clasped  above 
his  hurt  to  stay  the  effusion  of  blood,  and  lurched  and 
stumbled  from  our  sight. 

"  Sir  —  O  sir,"  I  stammered,  "  who  —  what  is  that 
man?" 

"A  creature  so  unutterably  evil,  Peregrine,  that  only 
music  could  adequately  describe  him.  He  is  one  who  should 
be  dead  years  ago  and  consequently  I  am  somewhat  per- 
turbed that  I  did  not  slay  him  outright  instead  of  merely 
breaking  his  arm.  It  was  a  mistake,  I  fear,  yes,  a  grave 
omission,  yet  there  may  offer  another  opportunity,  who 
knows?  Pray  God  his  black  shadow  may  never  again 
darken  your  path,  Peregrine,  nor  sully  your  sweet  purity, 
my  goddess  of  the  woods.  Forget  him,  my  children.  See, 
I  have  come  to  renew  my  youth  with  you,  to  talk  and  eat 
with  you  here  amid  God's  good,  green  things,  if  I  may. 


Of  a  Shadow  in  the  Sun       271 

Yonder  comes  the  excellent  Atkinson  with  the  tea  equipage. 
Will  you  be  my  hostess,  Diana?" 

"  Old  pal  —  dear,"  she  answered  a  little  tremulously, 
"  I  'd  just  love  to." 

"  Why,  child,"  said  the  Earl,  while  I  assisted  the  grave 
and  decorous  Atkinson  to  unpack  the  various  dainties  and 
comestibles,  "  why,  child,  how  beautiful  your  hair  is  ! "  and 
lifting  a  silky  tress  in  gentle,  reverent  fingers,  our  Ancient 
Person  kissed  it  with  stately  gallantry. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

TELLS  HOW  I  MET  ANTHONY  AGAIN 

"  WHAT  with  banns  and  certif  cates  and  this  and  that  and 
t'other,  they  don't  make  it  very  easy  for  people  to  get 
married,  do  they,  Peregrine?  " 

"  No !  "  I  answered. 

We  were  jolting  Tonbridge-wards  in  the  Tinker's  cart; 
the  afternoon  was  very  hot,  and  Diogenes,  hearing  the 
murmur  of  our  voices,  subsided  to  a  leisured  amble  like  the 
knowing,  four-footed  philosopher  he  was. 

"Seven  pounds  seems  a  lot  to  pay  for  just  one  gown 
—  even  if  it  is  to  marry  you  in,  doesn't  it,  Peregrine?  " 

"  In  three  weeks !  "  I  added. 

"  And  four  days  I "  she  nodded. 

"  Twenty-five  days  —  it 's  an  age,  Diana !  Much  may 
happen  in  such  a  time  —  " 

"  It  will,  Peregrine !  " 

"Pray  what?" 

"Lots  of  things,  banns  and  certif-icates  and  —  my 
new  dress  as  will  cost  so  much  — 

"  Seven  pounds  is  ridiculously  cheap,  you  dear  child ! 
And  talking  of  banns,  it  may  seem  strange,  Diana,  that  I 
have  never  troubled  to  enquire  your  surname,  nor  should  I 
bother  you  now  but  that  the  parson  must  know  — 

"  Well,  it 's  not  so  very  strange  that  I  've  never  bothered 
to  tell  you  my  name,  Peregrine,  because  I  don't  know  it. 
Old  Azor  often  told  me  I  had  no  name,  but  the  Folk  Hived 
with,  theirs  was  Lovel  —  that  '11  do,  won't  it  ?  " 

"  Of  course !    Goddesses  don't  need  surnames." 

"  Will  you  still  think  me  a  goddess  when  we  're  married, 
Peregrine  ?  " 

'*  No,  as  something  infinitely  dearer  and  more  precious." 

"What?" 


Tells  How  I  Met  Anthony  Again  273 

"  My  wife  1  It  —  it  sounds  strange  on  my  lips,  does  n't 
it?" 

"  I  love  the  way  you  say  it ! "  sighed  Diana,  and  with 
such  a  look  in  her  eyes  that  I  clasped  her  to  me  and  she, 
all  unresisting,  gave  up  her  lips  to  mine.  So,  for  a  space, 
we  forgot  all  but  ourselves  and  I  grew  blind  to  all  but  her 
beauty,  deaf  to  all  but  her  voice. 

"  O  Peregrine ! "  she  sighed.  "  O  Peregrine,  I  never 
thought  love  could  be  so  —  wonderful !  " 

"  In  three  weeks  you  will  be  mine  utterly,  Diana  —  in 
three  weeks ! " 

"I  am  now,  Peregrine.  I  could  never  love  —  never, 
never  marry  any  one  but  you.  I  never  meant  to  marry 
because  I  never  thought  I  could  love  any  man  —  but  now 
—  O  Peregrine !  " 

"  Dear,"  said  I,  "  if  —  if  anything  should  happen  to 
separate  us,  could  you  —  would  you  always  love  me?  " 

"  Always,  Peregrine,  always  and  for  ever.  Hark, 
there  is  some  one  coming." 

Faint  and  far  rose  the  sound  of  hoofs  and,  glancing 
up,  I  espied  the  distant  forms  of  two  equestrians  and  also 
observed  that  the  perspicacious  Diogenes,  quick  to  heed 
and  take  advantage  of  our  lapse,  had  halted  to  crop  and 
nibble  busily  in  the  shade  of  a  great  tree  that  stretched 
one  mighty  branch  protectingly  above  us. 

"  People  are  coming,  Peregrine." 

"  I  know,  but  they  are  still  very  far  off;  besides  we  are 
in  the  shade  —  kiss  me  again,  Diana." 

The  advancing  hoofs  sounded  nearer  and  presently, 
obedient  to  the  rein,  Diogenes  ambled  on  again;  and  now 
I  saw  that  the  approaching  riders  were  a  lady  and  gentle- 
man and  mounted  on  spirited  animals  for,  as  they  drew 
nearer,  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  lady  had  much  difficulty 
in  managing  her  fiery  steed. 

Now  between  us  and  these  riders  was  another  tall  tree 
that  cast  a  jagged  shadow  athwart  the  white  road,  noting 
which,  I  kept  my  gaze  on  the  lady's  mount  somewhat 
anxiously. 


274  Peregrine's  Progress 

My  apprehensions  were  suddenly  realised  for,  reaching 
this  patch  of  shadow,  the  lady's  horse  shied,  swerved  sud- 
denly, and  hurled  his  rider  into  the  ditch. 

Diana  cracked  the  whip  and  Diogenes  broke  into  a 
gallop,  but  long  before  we  had  come  up  with  them,  the 
gentleman  was  off  his  horse,  had  lifted  the  swooning 
woman  in  his  arms,  and  was  pouring  out  a  breathless 
farrago  of  endearments  and  prayers  with  curses  upon 
himself,  his  helplessness  and  the  jibbing  horse. 

"  Barbara,  dear  love  —  oh,  damnation  and  the  devil, 
what  shall  I  do  —  Barbara,  are  you  much  hurt,  dearest  — 
the  accursed  brute  —  a  thousand  curses  —  look  at  me,  be- 
loved, speak  —  O  God  have  mercy  on  her  !  " 

Now  glancing  at  the  beautiful,  pale  face  of  this  swoon- 
ing girl,  I  started,  and  looking  from  her  to  the  athletic 
form  and  handsome  features  of  this  distracted  youth  who 
clasped  her,  I  caught  my  breath;  and  then  Diana  had 
leapt  from  the  cart  and,  pushing  aside  this  miserable, 
helping  being,  had  busied  herself  to  recover  the  uncon- 
scious girl  in  her  own  quick,  capable  fashion. 

"  A  woman !  "  gasped  the  gentleman.  "  O  God  bless 
you  —  thank  heaven !  Say  she  is  n't  dead  —  you  '11  want 
water  —  not  a  drop  for  miles,  dammit  —  brandy  —  not 
a  spot  —  oh,  curse  and  confound  it  —  say  she  is  n't  dead ! " 

"  She 's  not !  "  said  Diana  briefly. 

"  God  bless  you  again  !     Tell  me  what  to  do  ?  " 

"Go  away  and  leave  her  to  me." 

"  But  how  can  I  leave  her?  " 

"  I  must  loose  her  stays  —  you  '11  find  a  brook  t'  other 
side  the  hedge  —  in  your  hat !  " 

Scarcely  were  the  words  uttered  than  the  gentleman 
was  over  the  hedge  and  as  quickly  back  again,  slopping 
water  right  and  left  from  his  modish,  curly-brimmed  hat 
in  his  frantic  haste ;  this  he  set  down  at  Diana's  command 
and,  turning  away,  began  to  stride  up  and  down,  mutter- 
ing agitated  anathemas  upon  himself  and  scowling  fero- 
ciously at  the  two  horses,  which  I  had  taken  the  opportu- 
nity to  hitch  to  an  adjacent  gatepost. 


Tells  How  I  Met  Anthony  Again  275 

At  last  in  his  restless  tramping  he  seemed  to  become 
aware  of  me  where  I  sat,  for  I  had  climbed  back  into  the 
cart,  and  he  now  addressed  me,  though  with  his  anxious 
gaze  bent  towards  the  unconscious  form  of  his  companion. 

"  Good  God,  man  —  this  is  pure  damnation !  If  you 
can't  do  anything,  since  I  can't  do  anything,  can't  you 
suggest  something  I  can  do?  " 

"  Only  that  you  strive  for  a  little  patience,  sir." 

At  this  he  turned  to  stare  at  me,  then  his  grey  eyes 
widened  suddenly,  and  he  leapt  at  me  with  both  hands 
outstretched. 

"  Vereker !  "  he  cried.  "  Peregrine  —  Perry,  by  all 
that 's  wonderful." 

"  Anthony ! "  said  I,  as  our  hands  gripped. 

"Peregrine  —  O  Perry,  we  —  we  were  married  —  not 
an  hour  ago  —  Barbara  and  I  —  and  now  —  " 

"  Look ! "  said  I  and  nodded  where  Barbara  sat,  her 
pale  check  pillowed  on  Diana's  bosom. 

"  Anthony ! "  she  called  softly.  And  then  he  was  beside 
her  on  his  knees,  his  head  down-bent,  her  arm  about  his 
neck. 

"  Perry !  "  he  called  suddenly.  "  Come  here,  man,  come 
here !  Sure  you  have  n't  forgot  the  angel  who  stooped  to 
a  miserable  dog,  who  trusted  a  desperate-seeming  rogue 
and  lifted  him  back  to  manhood  and  self-respect  —  you 
remember  my  Barbara?  And  you,  dearest,  recall  my 
friend  Peregrine  —  the  gentle,  immaculate  youth  who  was 
willing  to  trust  and  bestow  his  friendship  upon  the  same 
miserable  dog  and  desperate  rogue  —  aye,  and  fed  him 
into  the  bargain  —  " 

"  How  should  I  ever  forget?  "  said  Barbara.  "  Indeed, 
Mr.  Vereker,  we  have  talked  of  you  often  —  though  al- 
ways as  (  Peregrine  '  —  " 

"  Mrs.  Vere-Manville,"  I  began. 

"  It  was  Barbara  at  the  '  Jolly  Waggoner » ! "  she  re- 
minded me,  smiling  and  nestling  closer  into  her  husband's 
encircling  arm. 

"  Barbara  —  Anthony,"  said  I,  *'  it  is  my  happy  privi- 


276  Peregrine's  Progress 

lege  to  introduce  Diana  —  Miss  Lovel — who  is  to  honour 
me  by  becoming  my  wife  shortly  —  " 

Anthony  bowed  to  Diana,  laughed,  and  drew  his  wife 
a  little  cloeer  all  in  the  same  moment,  it  seemed;  then 
Barbara  turned  to  look  into  the  vivid,  dark  beauty  of 
Diana's  down-bent  face  where  she  knelt,  and  for  a  long 
moment  eyes  of  blue  stared  up  into  eyes  of  grey,  a  long, 
questioning  look. 

"May  I  kiss  you?"  said  Barbara  at  last. 

Swiftly,  almost  eagerly,  Diana  leaned  forward,  then 
hesitated,  drew  away,  and  glanced  swiftly  upon  each  of 
us  in  turn  with  a  troubled  look. 

"  Lady,"  said  she  in  Jier  rich,  soft  voice,  and  speaking 
with  careful  deliberation,  "  Peregrine  has  not  told  you  — 
all.     Please  look  at  me  —  my  dress  —  " 

"  Very  pretty,  L  think,  and  quaint  —  like  a  gipsy's  —  " 

"  I  am  a  gipsy,  lady  —  one  Peregrine  met  by  the  road- 
side! 'T  is  best  you  should  know  this  —  first  —  before 
—  before  —  " 

The  soft,  sweet  voice  faltered  and  stopped  and  there 
fell  a  silence,  a  long,  tense  moment  wherein  I  held  my 
breath,  I  think,  and  was  conscious  of  the  heavy  beating  of 
my  heart,  but  with  every  throb  I  loved  and  honoured 
Diana  the  more.  Slowly  and  gently  Barbara  loosed  her 
husband's  clasping  arm  and  rose  to  her  knees. 

"Now  —  I  must  kiss  you,  Diana!"  she  said. 

"  O  lady !  "  sighed  Diana. 

"Barbara,  my  dear!  Barbara  ever  and  always!" 

"  Barbara ! "  murmured  Diana.  And  then  they  were  in 
each  other's  arms  and  Anthony  was  on  his  feet  and  tuck- 
ing his  arm  in  mine  led  me  where  the  horses  stood  tethered, 
with  such  disconnected  mutterings  as : 

"  Come  away,  Perry  —  true  blue,  'egad  —  leave  'em  to- 
gether —  angels  of  heaven  both  —  too  good  for  me  —  or 
even  you  —  not  a  doubt  of  it  —  " 

"  Agreed !  "  quoth  I. 

"  Peregrine,"  said  he,  pausing  suddenly  to  grasp  me  by 
the  shoulders  in  his  well-remembered  way,  "  O  Peregrine, 


Tells  How  I  Met  Anthony  Again  277 

she  is  the  loveliest,  sweetest,  tenderest  creature  that  ever 
made  a  man  wish  himself  better  —  " 

"Anthony,"  quoth  I,  "she  is  the  bravest,  noblest, 
purest  maid  that  ever  taught  a  man  to  be  better ! " 

"  She  is,  Peregrine ! " 

"  They  are,  Anthony ! " 

"  For  one  frightful  moment  I  thought  she  —  was  killed, 
Perry!" 

"  But  God  is  good  and  —  Diana  was  there,  Anthony." 

"  A  wonderful  creature,  your  Diana,  Perry,  as  capable 
as  she  is  handsome !  " 

"  She  is  beyond  all  description,  Anthony ! " 

"  Yes,  I  can  find  no  word  for  Barbara,  damme ! " 

Now  as  he  looked  down  on  me,  his  handsome  face  ra- 
diant, his  powerful  form  set  off  by  the  most  elegant  attire, 
I  could  not  but  contrast  him  with  the  forlorn,  down-at- 
heels  outcast  he  had  been. 

"It  seems  I  have  much  to  congratulate  you  upon,"  said  I. 

"God,  yes,  Peregrine!  And  I  owe  you  a  guinea  — 
here  it  is!  My  curmudgeonly  uncle  (Heaven  rest  him!) 
had  the  kindness  to  choke  himself  to  death  in  a  fit  of  pas- 
sion. And  to-day,  Perry,  to-day  — we  gave  '  the  Gorgon ' 
the  slip  (Barbara's  aunt)  — got  married  and  are  now  on 
our  way  to  outface  her  father  —  a  regular  Tartar  by  all 
accounts  —  and  there 's  the  situation  in  a  word." 

"  You  have  n't  lost  much  time,  Anthony." 

"  Nor  have  you  for  that  matter,  Perry.  And  I  Ve  ten 
thousand  things  to  tell  you,  and  questions  to  ask  you  and 
—  Ha,  thank  God,  she  's  on  her  feet !  Look  at  'em  —  did 
ever  mortal  eyes  behold  two  lovelier  creatures  ?  "  And 
away  he  strode  impetuous  towards  where  they  stood,  the 
dark  and  the  fair,  with  arms  entwined,  viewing  each 
other's  beauteousness  glad-eyed. 

"  My  brave  girl !    How  are  you  now?  " 

"Better  —  oh,  much  better,  dear  Anthony,  though  I 
fear  I  cannot  ride  —  " 

"Not  to  be  thought  of,  my  sweet  —  Gad,  no  —  not 
for  a  moment !  " 


278  Peregrine's  Progress 

"  Diana  has  offered  to  drive  me  in  the  cart,  Anthony." 

"  Excellent !    We  can  hire  a  chaise  at  Hadlow !  " 

So  very  soon,  behold  us  jolting  along  in  the  Tinker's 
cart  very  merrily,  Anthony  and  I  perched  upon  the  tail- 
board, the  two  horses  trotting  behind  a  little  disdainfully, 
as  it  seemed  to  me,  judging  by  the  flirting  of  their  tails, 
head-shakings  and  repeated  snorts. 

"And  what  might  you  be  doing  now,  Perry?  "  enquired 
my  companion,  swinging  his  long,  booted  legs  and  stealing 
a  backward  glance  at  his  fair,  young  wife  seated  on  the 
driving  seat  beside  Diana.  "  Is  n't  she  perfectly  won- 
derful? "  he  murmured. 

"  She  is !  "  I  answered. 

"  Her  hair,"  he  sighed ;  "  her  hair,  you  '11  notice,  is  —  " 

"  The  most  glorious  in  all  the  world ! "  quoth  I. 

"  Absolutely,  Perry !     Beyond  all  doubt  —  " 

"  Though  it  is  not  really  black,  Anthony  — 

"Black!"  he  exclaimed,  turning  on  me  with  a  sort  of 
leap. 

"  No,  not  black,  Anthony,  sometimes  it  seems  full  of 
small  fires  —  " 

Now  at  this  he  laughed  and  I  laughed,  all  unheeded  by 
the  two  upon  the  driving  seat  who  talked  softly  and  ques- 
tioned each  other  with  their  lovely  faces  very  close  to- 
gether, while  Diogenes  the  knowing  slowed  to  his  medi- 
tative amble. 

"  You  must  forgive  me,  Perry,  I  —  I  'vo  only  been  a 
Benedict  since  two  o'clock.  But  tell  me  of  yourself;  what 
you  are  doing,  how  you  live  and  where?  " 

"  I  am  learning  the  art  of  working  in  iron,  Anthony, 
and  of  making  and  mending  kettles  —  " 

"  Gad  —  a  tinker,  Perry?  " 

"  Yes.  And  I  am  living  in  a  wood  with  one  Jerry 
Jarvis,  Jessamy  Todd,  and  Diana  — " 

"The  famous  Jessamy?" 

"  Yes.    He  is  instructing  me  in  the  noble  art." 

"Good  heavens!     And  your  —  your  people?" 

"  They  perforce  acquiesce." 


Tells  How  I  Met  Anthony  Again  279 

"  In  —  in  everything,  Perry  —  your  marriage?  " 

"What  else  can  they  do?" 

"  And  when  you  are  married,  how  shall  you  live?  " 

"  Travel  the  country  tinkering  with  Jerry  —  or  buy  a 
cottage  until  I  come  into  my  property." 

"And  then,  Perry?" 

"I  —  don't  know.  You  see,  Anthony,  if — if  the 
people  in  our  world  should  make  any  difficulty  about  the 
pure  angel  who  will  be  my  wife,  well,  I  '11  see  the  people 
of  our  world  damned  and  go  back  to  my  cottage." 

"  No,  you  shall  come  to  us,  Perry,  to  Barbara  and  me, 
we  shall  always  be  proud  and  happy  to  welcome  you  both 

—  in  country  or  town  and  as  for  —  your  Diana,  such 
beauty  may  surely  go  anywhere,  and  my  Barbara  is  in 
love  with  her  already,  'egad.    Look  at  'em,  Perry,  look  at 
'em !    Did  ever  eyes  behold  two  such  gloriously  handsome 
creatures  ?  " 

Thus  we  talked  of  things  that  had  been  and  of  things 
that  were  to  be,  making  many  plans  for  the  future,  a 
future  which,  by  reason  of  youth  and  love,  stretched  be- 
fore each  one  of  us  in  radiant  perspective.  So  we  talked 
and  laughed,  finding  joy  in  all  things,  more  especially  in 
each  other  and  were  all  a  little  sorry,  I  think,  when  the 
ambling  Diogenes  brought  us  to  Hadlow  at  last.  And 
here,  at  the  "  Bear "  we  sat  down  to  a  merry  meal  that 
ended  all  too  soon. 

"Good-bye  —  oh,  good-bye,  dearest  Diana!"  sighed 
Barbara  a  little  tearfully,  as  she  leaned  from  the  chaise 
for  a  last  caress.  "If  I  have  learned  to  love  you  so 
quickly  don't  let  it  seem  strange  —  it  is  just  because  you 
are  Diana  —  and  I  have  so  few  friends,  and  none  like 
you.  So  be  my  friend,  Diana,  will  you,  dear — and  when 
you  are  married  bring  your  husband  to  see  us  in  London 

—  or  wherever  we  happen  to  be,  only  —  oh,  be  my  friend, 
because  —  I  love  you." 

"I  will,"  said  Diana,  "your  friend  always,  because — - 
I  love  you  too." 

So  the  chaise  rolled  away.    And  presently  Diana  and  I 


280  Peregrine's  Progress 

jogged  camp-wards  behind  Diogenes,  through  an  evening 
fragrant  with  new-mown  hay;  from  tree  and  hedgerow 
birds  were  singing  their  vesper  hymn  and  we  drove  awhile 
in  wistful  silence.  But  suddenly  Diana  turned  and  caught 
my  hand  so  that  I  wondered  at  the  eager  clasp  of  these 
fingers  and  the  tremulous  yearning  in  her  voice  when  she 
spoke. 

"  O  Peregrine  —  oh,  my  dear  —  if  only  God  would  make 
me  —  like  her  —  a  lady  —  like  Barbara.  Do  you  think  He 
would  if  —  I  pray  —  very  hard  ?  " 

"  Of  course ! "  said  I,  kissing  her  hand.  "  Though,  in- 
deed— " 

"Then  I  will,  dear  Peregrine — this  very  night  —  and 
every  night." 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

A  DISQUISITION   ON   TRUE   LOVE 

"LovE,"  said  his  lordship,  laying  down  his  fishing  rod, 
"  love,  from  the  philosophically  materialistic  standpoint, 
is  an  unease,  a  disquiet  of  the  mind,  fostered  in  the  male  by 
hallucination,  and  in  the  female  by  determined  self-delu- 
sion." 

"  Sir,"  said  I,  "  your  meaning  is  somewhat  involved,  I 
would  beg  you  to  be  a  little  more  explicit." 

"Then  pray  observe  me,  Peregrine!  An  ordinary 
young  man  falls  in  love  with  an  ordinary  young  woman  be- 
cause, for  some  inexplicable  reason,  she  appears  to  him  a 
mystery,  bewitchingly  incomprehensible.  Suffering  under 
this  strange  hallucination,  he  wooes,  whereupon  our  or- 
dinary young  woman,  shutting  her  eyes  to  the  ordinariness 
of  our  very  ordinary  young  man,  now  deliberately  deludes 
herself  into  the  firm  belief  that  he  is  the  virile  presentment 
of  her  own  impossible,  oft-dreamed  ideal.  So  they  are  wed 
(to  the  infinite  wonder  of  their  relations)  and  hence  the 
perpetuation  of  the  species." 

"My  lord,  you  grow  a  little  cynical,  I  think,"  said  I, 
"  surely  Love  has  dowered  these  apparently  so  ordinary 
people  with  a  vision  to  behold  in  each  other  virtues  and 
beauties  undreamed  of  by  the  world  in  general.  Surely 
Love  possesses  the  only  seeing  eye?  " 

"  The  Greeks  thought  differently,  Peregrine,  or  where- 
fore their  blindfolded  Eros?" 

"  Sir,  the  mind  of  man  has  soared  since  those  far  times, 
I  venture  to  think?" 

"  Perhaps ! "  said  his  lordship,  shaking  his  head.  "  But 
love  between  man  and  woman  is  much  the  same,  a  power 
to  ennoble  or  debase,  angel  of  light  or  demon  of  hell,  a 
thing  befouled  and  shamed  by  brutish  selfishness  or  glori- 
fied by  sacrifice.  Yes,  love  is  to-day  as  it  was  when  mighty 


'282  Peregrine's  Progress 

Babylon  worshipped  Bel.  Yesterday,  to-day  and  for  ever, 
love  was,  is,  and  will  be  the  same  —  the  call  of  nature  com- 
ing to  each  of  us  through  the  senses  to  the  soul  for  evil 
or  for  good." 

"  But,  my  lord,"  said  I,  stirred  beyond  myself,  "  ah, 
sir,  be  love  what  it  may  —  no  two  ever  loved  as  Diana  and 
I,  so  truly,  so  deeply  - 

"O  my  lovely,  loving  lover  —  O  sublime  egoist!"  ex- 
claimed my  companion.  "  How  many  other  lovers  through 
the  ages  have  thought  and  said  and  written  the  very  same? 

'  Others  may  have  loved  mayhap, 
But  never,  oh,  never  as  thou  and  I.' 

"  This  is  the  song  of  all  the  amorists  of  all  the  ages.  Man 
has  been  saying  this  since  ever  he  was  man.  Here  is  love's 
universal,  deathless  song,  written  or  sung  to-day  and  by 
lovers  long,  long  forgotten, 

'  Whoever  loved  like  thou  and  I, 
No  lovers  ever  loved  as  we ! ' ' 

"  Nor  did  they,  sir !  "  I  maintained  doggedly.  "  My 
love  for  Diana  is  a  thing  wholly  apart,  an  inspiration  to 
all  things  good  and  great." 

"Then  prove  this,  my  egoist,  prove  it!" 

"But  sir — sir,"  I  stammered,  nonplussed  by  his  words 
and  the  piercing  look  that  accompanied  them,  "  how  — 
in  what  manner  would  you  have  me  do  this?" 

"  By  forgetting  yourself  in  your  love  for  her !  By 
foregoing  awhile  your  present  joys  for  her  future  good. 
Give  her  into  my  care  for  two  years." 

"  My  lord !  "  I  exclaimed  aghast.  "I  —  indeed  I  do 
not  understand." 

"  Peregrine,  God  has  bestowed  on  her  a  mind  capable 
of  great  things — a  wonderful  voice.  Place  her  in  my 
charge  for  two  years  —  I  am  solitary  and  very  rich  —  she 
shall  see  the  world  and  its  wonders ;  I  will  have  her  edu- 
cated, bestow  on  her  all  the  refinements  that  great  wealth 
can  command.  Nature  has  given  her  a  glorious  voice, 


A  Disquisition  on  True  Love  283 

Art  shall  make  her  a  great  singer.  Forego  your  present 
happiness  for  her  future  good  and  your  gipsy  maid  shall 
become  a  great  lady  and  a  peerless  woman.  Do  this, 
Peregrine,  and  here,  truly,  shall  be  love  indeed." 

Now  at  this  I  was  silent  a  long  while,  staring  down 
blindly  at  the  hurrying  waters  of  the  brook ;  glancing  up 
at  last,  I  found  him  regarding  me  with  his  keen,  bright 
eyes  and  was  struck  anew  by  the  strength  of  his  person- 
ality, his  resolute  face  with  its  indomitable  mouth  and 
chin,  his  serene  air  of  dignity  and  assured  power. 

"  She  would  be  safe  with  me,  Peregrine,"  said  he  gently, 
"  secure  from  every  evil  —  and  from  every  chance  of  mo- 
lestation." 

"  I  know  that,  sir." 

"  She  would  be  cherished  and  loved  as  sacredly  as  —  my 
own  daughter  —  might  have  been." 

"  I  am  sure  of  it,  sir  —  and  yet  —  " 

"Well,  Peregrine?" 

"  Two  years,  sir,"  I  faltered.    "  It  —  it  is  an  age —  " 

"  You  are  both  children,  Peregrine,  but  in  two  years,  as 
I  understand,  you  will  be  of  age,  a  man,  master  of  your 
fortune  —  and  she  a  woman,  clever,  accomplished  and  per- 
haps famous." 

"  And  may  have  forgotten  me ! " 

"  Do  you  think  so,  Peregrine?  " 

"No!  "said  I.    "No!" 

"  Nor  do  I,  boy.  Such  as  she,  being  deep  and  reverent 
of  soul,  do  not  love  lightly,  and  never  forget.  On  the 
contrary,  with  her  growing  knowledge  and  experience, 
surely  her  love  for  you  will  grow  also ;  it  must  do.  If  she 
loves  you  to-day,  child  of  nature  as  she  is,  how  much 
greater  will  be  her  capacity  for  love  as  an  educated  woman, 
knowing  that  it  is  to  your  unselfishness,  first  and  foremost, 
that  she  owes  so  very  much  ?  " 

After  this  was  silence  again  wherein  I  watched  my  com- 
panion disjoint  his  fishing  rod. 

"  Sir,"  said  I  at  last,  "  yours  is  a  very  noble  and  gen- 
erous offer  —  " 


284  Peregrine's  Progress 

"Tush!"  he  exclaimed  a  little  sharply.  "I  am  a  soli- 
tary old  man  who  yearns  for  a  daughter." 

"  Sir,  in  less  than  a  fortnight  is  —  the  day  —  our  wed- 
ding day  —  " 

"  Then,"  said  his  lordship,  rising,  "  God's  blessing  on 
that  day,  Peregrine,  and  on  each  of  you." 

"  You  ask  of  me  a  very  great  thing,  sir ! "  I  groaned. 

"Indeed,  yes,  Peregrine,  so  very  great  that  only  the 
greatest  love  could  possibly  grant  it." 

Long  after  the  Earl  had  limped  away,  I  sat  crouched 
beside  the  stream,  my  head  bowed  between  clasping  hands, 
blind  and  deaf  and  unconscious  of  all  else  but  the  tempest 
that  raged  within  me,  a  wild  confusion  of  doubt  and  fear- 
ful speculation  with  a  passionate  rebellion  against  circum- 
stance, and  a  growing  despair.  Gradually  these  chaotic 
thoughts  took  form,  marshalling  themselves  against  each 
other,  so  that  it  seemed  as  two  voices  argued  bitterly 
within  me,  thus : 

THE  FIRST  VOICE.  To  give  up  Diana  for  two  long, 
weary  years  — 

THE  SECOND  VOICE.    But  for  Diana's  sake ! 

THE  FIRST  VOICE.  To  forego  the  joys  of  Diana's  com- 
panionship for  two,  empty,  desolate  years. 

THE  SECOND  VOICE.    But  for  Diana's  own  future  good ! 

THE  FIRST  VOICE.  Why  should  Love  demand  such 
thing  of  any  lover? 

THE  SECOND  VOICE.  Because  he  boasted  his  love  be- 
yond all  other.  Was  it  but  an  idle  boast? 

THE  FIRST  VOICE.     No  lover  would  ever  do  such  thing! 

THE  SECOND  VOICE.  Except  he  be  indeed  greatly  true 
and  most  unselfish. 

THE  FIRST  VOICE.     Diana  would  never  leave  me. 

THE  SECOND  VOICE.  Never,  even  though  it  were  the 
passion  of  her  life!  For  truly  a  woman's  love  is  ever 
more  unselfish  than  a  man's. 

THE  FIRST  VOICE.  She  loves  me  too  much  to  endure 
such  parting. 

THE  SECOND  VOICE.     She  loves  you  so  much  she  would 


A  Disquisition  on  True  Love      285 

endure  even  this  to  become  your  comrade  as  well  as  wife, 
to  fit  herself  that  she  may  take  her  place  beside  you  in 
your  world,  serene  and  assured,  to  become  the  woman 
you  can  revere  for  her  intellect  and  refinement. 

THE  FIRST  VOICE.  All  this  I  can  teach  her,  all  this  she 
shall  acquire  after  marriage. 

THE  SECOND  VOICE.  Never !  She  will  devote  herself  to 
you  rather  than  to  herself. 

THE  FIRST  VOICE.  Howbeit,  I  love  her  well  enough  as 
she  is  — 

THE  SECOND  VOICE.  O  selfish  lover !  And  what  of  the 
future?  You  cannot  live  out  your  life  in  her  world  of 
the  Silent  Places,  and  in  your  world  your  gipsy  maid  will 
find  small  welcome  or  none. 

THE  FIRST  VOICE.    Then  her  world  shall  be  mine  also  — 

THE  SECOND  VOICE.  O  foolish  lover!  Think  you  she 
shall  not  grieve  that  by  her  love  you  should  lose  caste  — 

THE  FIRST  VOICE.     She  need  never  know  — 

THE  SECOND  VOICE.  The  eyes  of  a  loving  woman  are 
marvellous  quick  to  see. 

THE  FIRST  VOICE.     Then  Love  shall  comfort  her. 

THE  SECOND  VOICE.  Yet  still  must  be  her  dark  hours. 
Is  two  years  so  long  a  time? 

THE  FIRST  VOICE.  Too  long!  In  two  years  she  may 
find  a  thousand  new  interests  to  come  between  us.  In 
two  years  she  may  meet  with  dashing  gallants  richer, 
higher  placed,  more  versed  in  knowledge  of  women  and 
far  more  intellectual  than  myself,  who  am  but  what  I  am. 
So,  having  won  her  to  my  love,  what  folly  to  let  her  go  — 
to  be  wooed  perchance  by  others. 

THE  SECOND  VOICE.  O  most  despicable  lover!  Will 
you  be  content  to  win  a  maid  through  and  because  of  her 
ignorance  of  all  other  wooers  better  placed  than  your  poor 
self? 

THE  FIRST  VOICE.     Yes. 

THE  SECOND  VOICE.  Then  is  yours  a  pitiful  love,  base 
and  most  unworthy. 


286  Peregrine's  Progress 

THE  FIRST  VOICE.  No  matter  —  she  shall  not  go! 

THE  SECOND  VOICE.  In  such  a  love  can  be  no  true  hap- 
piness. 

THE  FIEST  VOICE.     However,  she  shall  not  leave  me! 

THE  SECOND  VOICE.  How  if  at  some  future  day,  her 
eyes  be  opened  to  see  your  love  for  the  petty,  selfish  thing 
it  is? 

THE  FIRST  VOICE.     She  will  be  my  wife! 

THE  SECOND  VOICE.  So  God  pity  her. 

THE  FIRST  VOICE.  Come  what  will,  she  shall  not  leave 
me !  I  cannot,  will  not  part  with  her ! 

"  Why,  Peregrine !  "  exclaimed  a  sweet  voice.  "  My 
dear  —  my  dear,  what  is  it?  Why  do  you  sit  here  sighing 
with  your  dear  head  between  your  hands  —  this  head  that 
I  love  so!  Peregrine  dear,  what  is  it?  " 

She  was  beside  me  on  her  knees,  had  drawn  my  face 
upon  her  bosom,  and  I  thrilled  to  the  soft  caress  of  her 
mouth  and  the  touch  of  her  gentle  fingers  in  my  hair. 
"  Why  are  you  so  troubled,  my  Peregrine?  " 

"O  Diana!  Beloved,  I  imagined  a  foolish  thing  —  that 
being  far  from  me  you  forgot  our  love  —  these  dear  Silent 
Places,  and  learned  —  to  love  —  some  one  more  worthy 

—  more  generous  —  altogether  better  than  I.     For  Diana 

—  I  am—" 

"My  Peregrine!"  she  whispered  passionately.  "My 
brave  lover  that  is  so  fine  a  gentleman  he  don't  know  any- 
thing of  evil  and  has  treated  me  always  as  if  I  was  a 
proud  lady  —  as  if  I  was  a  very  holy  thing  instead  of  only 
a  gipsy  girl  to  be  kissed  and  —  and — oh,  you  are  so 
different  —  and  so  it  is  I  love  you  —  love  you,  worship 
you,  and  —  all  'us  shall,  my  Peregrine,  and  long  and  yearn 
to  be  a  lady  for  your  sake  and  worthy  of  you  —  " 

"O  child,"  I  whispered,  "my  Diana  —  hush!  You 
don't  know  how  vilely,  basely  selfish  I  am  really  — ' 

"Never  —  ah,  never  say  so,  Peregrine,  it  hurts  me. 
There  now,  smile !  I  would  n't  ha'  left  you  all  the  after- 
noon—  not  even  wi'  our  pal  —  no,  pot  even  to  try  on  my 
wedding  gown  if  I  'd  thought  you  'd  ha'  grieved.  Come, 


A  Disquisition  on  True  Love      287 

dear,  Jessamy  's  back  an*  ready  for  you  with  the  muffles 
—  there,  he  be  calling ! " 

So  I  arose,  but  stood  a  while  to  look  into  her  eyes  that 
met  mine  with  such  sweet  frankness. 

"  And  you  still  wish  to  learn  all  those  graces  and  re- 
finements that  make  what  is  called  a  lady,  my  Diana?" 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  a  little  breathlessly.  "  Yes  — 
oh,  more  than  ever  —  more  than  anything  else  in  life  — 
except  you  —  " 

"  Then  —  God  helping,  you  shall ! "  said  I,  between  shut 
teeth.  And  so  we  went  on  together. 

"  But,  Peregrine,"  she  questioned  a  little  wistfully, 
"  dear  Peregrine,  why  is  your  face  so  stern  and  why  must 
you  sigh  still  ?  " 

"Because  to  be  unselfish  is  sometimes  —  an  agony,. 
Diana." 

"  Dear  heart  — what  do  you  mean?  " 

"  Only  I  know  now  that  I  do  most  truly  love  you." 


CHAPTER  XXXVIH 

A    CRUCIFIXION 

"  WHEEE  are  you  taking  me,  Peregrine  ?  " 

Birds  were  singing  joyously,  the  brook  chuckled  and 
laughed  merrily  amid  the  shallows,  the  morning  sun  shone 
in  glory,  and  all  nature  seemed  to  rejoice,  as  if  care  and 
sadness  were  things  unknown. 

"Where  are  we  going,  dear  Peregrine?" 

"  To  seek  your  heart's  desire." 

"  That  sounds  very  lovely !  "  said  Diana,  laughing  gaily 
and  giving  my  arm  a  little  hug.  "  But  everything  seems 
so  —  wonderful  lately  !  " 

After  this  we  walked  in  silence  awhile,  for  when  I  would 
have  told  her  whither  we  were  going  and  why,  I  could  not, 
try  how  I  would. 

"Barbara  was  telling  me  how  she  first  met  you  and 
Anthony;  she  is  very  beautiful,  don't  ye  think,  Pere- 
grine ?  " 

"Very!" 

"  So  beautiful  that  I  wonder  you  did  n't  fall  in  love  wi* 
her." 

"  I  waited  to  fall  in  love  with  Diana,  who  is  much  more 
beautiful,  I  think  —  " 

"  Do  you,  Peregrine,  do  you  think  so  —  really  ?  " 

Here,  of  course,  I  stopped  to  kiss  her. 

"  The  wonder  is,"  said  she,  "  the  great  wonder  is  that 
she  didn't  fall  in  love  wi'  you,  Peregrine." 

"  I  'm  very  glad  she  did  n't !  Besides,  there 's  Anthony, 
so  strong  and  tall  and  handsome,  so  altogether  different 
to  myself  and  much  more  likely  to  capture  a  woman's 
fancy." 

"  Not  all  women,  Peregrine." 

Here  she  stopped  to  kiss  me. 


A  Crucifixion  289 

"  Barbara  is  a  much  —  gentler  sort  of  fine  lady  than 

—  your  aunt,  I  think — " 

"  Aunt  Julia  can  be  gentle  also  —  sometimes,  dear  —  " 

"  When  she  gets  her  own  way,  Peregrine !  " 

"  You  will  learn  to  love  her  very  much  some  day,  I 

hope,  Diana." 

"I  hope  so  —  but  it'll  take  her  a  mighty  long  time 

learning  to  love  me,  I  think,"  sighed  Diana.    *'  Lord,  what 

furious  fuss  she  '11  make  when  she  finds  out  we  'm  married. 

Not  as  I  shall  care  —  if  you  don't,  dear.    Why,  Peregrine 

—  yonder  's  Wyvelstoke  Towers  !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  it  is  there  we  are  going." 

"But  why — what  for?" 

"  Dear,  have  patience- — just  a  little  longer,"  I  pleaded. 

At  this  she  was  silent,  but  her  hand  tightened  on  my 
arm,  and  I  was  aware  of  the  sudden  trouble  in  her  eyes. 
So,  having  crossed  the  park,  we  came  into  the  pleasaunce, 
a  place  of  clipped  yew  hedges  and  trim  walks.  And  here 
who  should  meet  us  but  the  sedate  Atkinson,  who,  having 
saluted  us  gravely,  led  the  way  to  a  rustic  arbour  where 
sat  his  lordship  engaged  upon  the  perusal  of  a  book.  At 
sight  of  us,  he  rose  to  welcome  us  with  his  wistful,  kindly 
smile. 

"  Ah,  Peregrine,"  said  he,  viewing  us  with  his  keen  gaze 
as  we  sat  beside  him,  "  I  perceive  you  have  not  told  her." 

"  Not  a  word,  sir,"  said  I,  a  little  hoarsely. 

"Old  pal,"  she  questioned,  glancing  from  me  to  his 
lordship  and  back  again,  "what  d'  ye  mean?  Peregrine, 
what  is  it?" 

"Diana,"  said  I,  finding  my  tongue  very  unready, 
«  dear  —  what  is  your  greatest  wish  —  what  is  your  most 
passionate  desire?" 

"  You ! "  she  answered  in  her  sweet,  direct  fashion. 

"And  —  what  next?" 

"  To  be  a  lady !    Oh,  you  know  that  and  you  know  why 

—  to  be  done  wi'  this  fear  that  sometimes  I  may  shame 
you  by  my  talk  or  by  acting  wrong;  you  know,  don't 
you?" 


290  Peregrine's  Progress  " 

"  This  is  why  I  brought  you  here,  Diana.  My  lord  has 
offered  to  —  have  you  taught  all  this  and  —  much  be- 
side." 

"  Oh ! "  she  sighed  rapturously.  "  You  mean  to  teach 
me  to  be  a  lady  ?  Oh,  dear,  dear  old  pal  —  can  you, 
will  you  ?  " 

"  Child,  it  would  be  my  most  joyful  privilege." 

"But,  Diana,"  I  continued  haltingly,  yet  speaking  as 
lightly  as  I  could  and  keeping  my  gaze  averted,  "  to  learn 
so  much  you  must  —  stay  with  his  lordship  —  travel 
abroad  —  meet  great  people — be  instructed  by  many 
skilled  teachers  and  —  there  will  be  your  music  —  sing- 
ing  —  » 

Will  they  teach  me  everything  a  lady  should  learn, 
grammar  an'  deportment  an*  dancing —  ?  " 

"  Everything,  Diana." 

"  But,  Peregrine,  while  I  'm  away  learning  all  this, 
where  will  you  be?  " 

"  I  shall  remain  —  here ! " 

"Oh,  well,  that's  done  it!  I  shall  stay  with  you,  of 
course ! " 

"That  would  be  impossible,"  said  I,  as  lightly  as  I 
could,  "  quite  impossible ;  such  love  as  ours,  that  demands 
so  much,  would  be  a  great  hindrance  to  your  progress, 
don't  you  see?  All  the  time  you  were  studying,  I  should 
hover  around  you  most  distractingly.  No,  we  must  part 
—  for  a  little  while  —  " 

"For  how  long,  Peregrine?" 

"  Only  two  years,  dear ! " 

"So  long  —  so  very  long!  Two  years!  Ah,  no,  no, 
I  could  n't  bear  it !  " 

"  Two  years  will  —  soon  pass  ! "  said  I,  between  clenched 
teeth.  "And  of  course  you  will  be  —  too  busy  to — miss 
me  —  very  much  —  " 

"  Ah,  how  can  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  And  you  will  be  working  for  me  as  much  as  for  your 
dear  self,  Diana,  and  —  our  love  —  our  future  happiness. 
So  you  will  go,  dear  heart  —  ?  " 


A  Crucifixion  291 


"For  two  years?  No — it's  too  long  —  you  might 
die  —  O  Peregrine !  " 

"The  contingency  is  remote  —  I  —  I  mean  —  " 

"  But  I  can't  leave  you !  I  must  n't  —  I  won't !  I  shall 
be  your  wife ! " 

"  No,  Diana,  that  —  that  must  wait  until  you  —  come 
back." 

"  Wait  ?  "  she  gasped.     "  Peregrine  —  0  Peregrine  —  " 

"  I  want  you  to  be  free,  Diana  — " 

"  Well,  I  won't  be !  I  'm  not  free  and  never  shall  be  be- 
cause I  belong  to  you  and  we  belong  to  each  other  for 
ever  and  ever." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  —  my  dear,  God  knows  it! "  cried  I  and 
clasped  her  to  me  in  yearning  arms.  "  But  I  want  you  to 
go  into  this  new  life  quite  free  and  unfettered,  because  it  is 
a  great  and  ever-growing  wonder  that  you  should  love  me 
who  am  neither  very  handsome  nor  strong  nor  brave  — 
so  I  want  you  to  meet  men  who  are  —  fine  gentlemen,  and 
compare  them  with  poor  me.  And  O  Diana,  if  you  can 
return  so  much  cleverer  and  wiser  for  all  you  have  seen 
and  learned  and  can  still  love  me  —  why,  then,  Diana,  oh, 
then  — "  my  voice  broke  but  in  this  moment  her  arms 
were  about  me  and  stooping  her  lovely  head  she  mingled 
her  tears  with  mine. 

"  Dear  foolish  boy,"  she  murmured  passionately,  "  how 
can  you  think  there  could  ever  be  any  other  but  just  you. 
Ah,  Perry  dear,  don't  send  me  away ;  I  should  hate  to  be 
a  lady  now.  Oh,  be  content  with  me  as  I  am  —  don't 
send  me  away  —  " 

"  I  must  —  for  your  sake,"  I  groaned,  "  for  your  fu- 
ture, to  help  you  to  the  better  thing.  Though  God  knows 
I  love  you  well  enough  as  you  are,  and  want  you,  Diana, 
want  you  with  every  nerve  and  fibre  of  me,  with  every 
breath.  Oh,  sir,  sir,"  I  cried,  "  help  me  to  be  strong  for 
—  her  sake! " 

"  You  are,  boy ! "  answered  his  lordship,  and  I  saw  he 
had  crossed  to  the  doorway  and  stood  with  his  back  to 
us.  "Diana,"  he  continued  after  a  moment,  "in  this 


292  Peregrine's  Progress 

world  of  change,  of  doubt  and  uncertainty,  one  thing  is 
very  sure  and  beyond  all  cavil  and  dispute :  Peregrine  loves 
you  far  better  than  he  loves  himself,  since  he  is  strong 
enough  to  forego  so  much  of  present  happiness  for  your 
future  welfare.  He  honours  me  by  placing  you  in 
my  charge,  I  who  love  you  as  a  daughter  and  will  treat 
you  as  such.  So,  Diana,  will  you  give  yourself  to  my 
care  awhile,  will  you  become  my  companion  and  loved 
child?" 

"  Must  I,  Peregrine ?  "  she  sobbed.    "  Oh,  must  I ?  " 

"  Yes ! "  said  I,  looking  at  her  through  blinding  tears. 
"Yes!" 

Obediently  she  arose  and,  crossing  to  his  lordship,  placed 
her  hand  in  his. 

"  I  '11  go  wi'  you,  old  pal,"  said  she. 

Now  as  our  Ancient  Person  turned  to  smile  at  her,  I 
saw  his  furrowed  cheek  was  wet  with  tears  also. 

"  Sir,  when  —  when  do  you  start?"  I  enquired. 

"  At  once,  Peregrine.    We  shall  be  in  London  to-night." 

"Then  this  is  —  good-bye,  sir?" 

"  Yes,  my  children ! " 

"  My  lord,"  said  I,  rising  wearily,  "  I  am  leaving  with 
you  all  I  possess,  my  present  joy,  my  —  hope  for  the  fu- 
ture, my  loved  Diana." 

"  God  make  me  worthy  of  the  charge,  Peregrine." 

All  in  a  moment  she  was  at  my  feet,  upon  her  knees,  her 
arms  fast  about  me,  her  face  hidden  against  me,  her  body 
shaken  with  convulsive  sobs. 

"  O  Perry,  I  can't  —  I  can't  do  it  —  no,  no  —  don't  let 
me  go  —  " 

At  this  I  knelt  also  and  thus  we  faced  each  other  on  our 
knees,  as  when  Love  first  had  found  us.  And  so  I  clasped 
and  kissed  and  strove  to  comfort  her,  until  the  passion  of 
her  grief  was  abated.  "  Must  I  go,  dear  Peregrine  —  must 
I  go?  "  she  whispered,  beneath  my  kisses. 

"Yes,  for  the  sake  of  the  future  —  yours  and  mine. 
God  keep  you  and  —  good-bye,  my  own  Diana ! " 

Then  I  arose  and  left  her  there  upon  her  knees,  looking 


A  Crucifixion  293 

after  me  through  fast-falling  tears  and  her  loved  arms 

stretched  out  to  me  in  piteous  supplication. 

"  Peregrine,"  she  pleaded,  "  oh,  my  Peregrine !  " 

But  I  turned  away  and  rushed  from  the  spot,  never 

daring  to  look  back;  but  ever  as  I  went,  that  desolate 

cry  rang  and  echoed  in  my  ears. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

HOW  I   CAME  HOME   AGAIN 

"  Two  years  !  Emptiness  !  Loneliness  !  Two  years  !  " 
It  was  in  the  hurry  of  my  footsteps,  birds  sang  it,  leaves 
whispered  it,  my  heart  throbbed  to  it. 

"  Two  years  !  Emptiness !  Loneliness !  Two  years !  " 
Sometimes  tears  blinded  me,  sometimes  anger  shook  me, 
but  always  was  the  pain  of  loss,  the  yearning  for  that 
loved  and  vanished  presence.  —  "  Two  years  ! " 

More  than  once  I  turned  to  hasten  back  —  to  end  this 
misery  —  back  to  my  Diana,  this  maid  who  was  more 
precious,  more  necessary  to  my  life  than  I  had  ever 
idreamed.  I  should  have  but  to  lift  my  finger,  nay  .  .  . 
one  look  and  she  would  be  in  my  arms  ...  so  very  easy, 
and  therefore  ...  so  utterly  impossible. 

Sometimes  I  hurried  on  at  breathless  speed,  sometimes 
crept  on  slow,  unwilling;  feet,  sometimes  stood  motionless 
to  stare  blindly  about  me,  raged  at  and  torn  by  conflicting 
thoughts  .  .  .  agonising  .  .  .  irresolute. 

How  long  I  wandered  thus  I  cannot  say,  but  the  sun 
was  low  when,  amid  the  leafy  whispering  of  familiar  tree, 
I  heard  the  cheery  ring  of  the  Tinker's  anvil. 

At  sight  of  me  he  dropped  his  hammer  and  fell  back  a 
step. 

"  Why  Peregrine,"  said  he.  "  WThy,  Perry  lad  —  don't 
look  so!  Is  aught  wrong?" 

"  Only  my  heart  is  breaking,  I  think !"  said  I,  and 
casting  myself  down  at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  I  covered  my 
face. 

"  God  love  me ! "  exclaimed  the  Tinker ;  and  then  he 
was  kneeling  beside  me.  "  What  is  it,  lad,  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  I  've  sent  my  Diana  from  me ! " 

"  Sent  her  from  ye,  lad?  " 

"  For  two  years,  Jerry.    Two  weary  years  .  .  .  empti- 


How  I  Came  Home  Again       295 

ness  .  .  .  loneliness.  I  have  placed  her  in  the  Earl  of  Wy- 
velstoke's  charge  .  .  .  they  start  for  London  at  once  .  .  . 
leave  England  as  soon  as  possible  .  .  .  she  is  gone  .  .  . 
two  years,  Jerry  .  .  .  two  weary  years  .  .  .  desolation ! " 

"  Peregrine,"  said  he  in  hushed  voice,  "  this  was  her 
great  wish  —  to  be  a  lady  for  your  sake.  She  's  told  me 
so  many 's  the  time  .  .  .  an'  I  caught  her  in  tears  over  it 
once." 

"  I  have  sent  her  away,  Jerry,  for  two  years ! " 

"  Peregrine,"  said  he,  "  't  is  a  fine  thing  to  be  a  gentle- 
man, but  't  is  a  grand  thing  to  be  a  man  big  enough  an* 
brave  enough  to  do  such  act  as  this  here.  God  bless  ye, 
lad!" 

"  O  Jerry  —  O  Jerry,  I  love  her  so  ...  !  Yearn  and 
hunger  for  her  so  much  ...  it  is  a  pain  !" 

"  Aye,  but  't  is  such  pain  as  makes  the  strong  stronger ! 
"Tis  such  love  as  do  be  everlasting  and  reaches  high  as 
heaven  —  " 

**  Two  years,  Jerry !  Two  long,  weary  years  to  wait 
...  to  yearn  ...  to  live  through  without  her  .  .  . 
emptiness  ! " 

"  Ah,  but  you  've  done  right,  lad,  you  've  done  right. 
And  then  —  what's  two  years?  Lord,  they'll  soon  go! 
And  her  love  for  you  '11  be  a-growin'  with  every  month  — 
every  day  an'  hour,  lad,  an'  she  '11  come  back  t'  ye  at  last, 
only  more  beautiful,  more  wonderful  an'  more  loving  than 
ever  she  was  —  " 

"  O  Jerry,"  said  I,  grasping  at  him  with  sudden  hands. 
"You  don't  think.  .  .  death  .  .  .  you  don't  think  she 
may  die  ?  " 

"  Die?  What,  Ann  —  s'  strong  an'  full  o'  vig'rous  life? 
Lord,  not  she,  lad,  not  she  —  never  think  it!" 

"Or  ...  forget  me,  Jerry  ? " 

"  What  —  Ann  ?  Lord  love  ye  —  no !  She  ain't  one  to 
forget  or  change  —  never  was,  an'  I  've  knowed  her  since 
a  little  child.  An'  she  's  never  loved  afore  —  hated  men ! 
An'  why?  Because  'twas  always  her  beauty  as  they 
wanted  —  her  body  —  an'  never  a  thought  of  her  mind, 


296  Peregrine's  Progress 

d*  ye  see !  An'  now  —  she 's  to  travel  to  see  the  world,  is 
she !  An'  with  the  Earl  —  an'  him  such  a  great  gentleman ! 
'T  is  wonderful  good  fortun'  for  her,  Peregrine,  wonder- 
ful!" 

"  Yes,  he  is  a  very  great  gentleman  and  a  truly  noble 
man,  Jerry." 

"An5  now,  what  o'  yourself,  lad?" 

"  I  shall  continue  to  live  with  you,  Jerry ;  I  shall  go  on 
smithing  and  tinkering  —  yes.  harder  than  ever  — 

"  No!"  said  the  Tinker,  sitting  back  on  his  heels  and 
shaking  his  head  at  me  with  the  utmost  vehemence. 
"Tinkering  ain't  for  you,  Peregrine,  an'  you  can  do  better 
things  than  swingin'  a  sledge  —  ah,  a  sight  better ! " 

"  What  do  you  suppose  I  can  do?"  sighed  I  miserably. 

"  Paint  pictoors  !  " 

"Impossible!     I  shall  never  be  a  real  painter,  Jerry." 

"Well,  then  — write!" 

"Impossible!     I  shall  never  be  a  poet,  Jerry." 

"  Well,  have  you  ever  thought  o'  writin'  a  nov-el?  " 

"  Never ! " 

"Well,  what  about  it?" 

"  Impossible !    Of  what  should  I  write?  " 

"  Why,  about  HER  —  Anna,  for  sure,  your  Diana  as 
would  ha'  made  a  better  goddess  than  the  real  one,  I 
reckon." 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  I,  lifting  my  head,  "  I  might  do  that, 
no  matter  how  badly.  To  write  of  her  would  be  better 
than  to  talk  of  her.  To  try  to  tell  all  her  loveliness,  her 
sweet,  strong,  virginal  soul,  her  wisdom,  her  purity,  her 
brave  independence,  to  picture  all  this  in  words,  no  matter 
how  inadequate,  I  shall  see  her  with  the  eyes  of  Memory ; 
she  will  be  back  with  me  in  spirit  ...  A  book  !  Jerry,  O 
Jeremy,  this  is  an  excellent  thought  ...  to  see  her  again 
...  to  talk  with  her  by  means  of  pen  and  ink  !  " 

In  my  eagerness  I  started  up  to  my  feet ;  then,  the  hot 
fit,  passing,  gave  place  to  the  cold,  and  Doubt  leapt  to 
seize  me.  "  But  I  've  never  tried  to  write  a  book  !  Who 
am  I  to  write  a  book  ?  " 


How  I  Came  Home  Again    297 

"Lord,  don't  be  down-hearted  afore  you  try,  lad!" 
admonished  the  Tinker,  for  I  had  Spoken  this  doubt  aloud. 
"  There  's  times  in  all  writers'  lives  when  they  have  n't  writ 
a  line,  yet  books  are  written  all  the  same.  Books  ain't 
made,  lad;  they  happen  and  they  happen  because  a  cove 
has  an  eye  to  see  a  little  way  beneath  the  surface  o'  things 
and  an  ear  as  can  hear  voices  in  the  wind,  an'  a  mind  as 
discovers  sum'mat  in  everything  to  wonder  at.  So  he 
goes  on  lookin'  an'  listenin'  an'  wonderin'  till  one  day  out 
it  has  to  come  —  an'  there 's  your  book.  Now  you  're  full 
up  o'  love,  ain't  you?  " 

"  Yes,  Jerry." 

"Good!  Well,  write  it  down.  There's  nothing  goes 
better  in  a  nov-el  than  love,  except  blood  —  a  splash  or  so 
here  an'  there,  battle,  murder  an'  sudden  death  —  just  a 
tang  or  so  t'  season  it.  I  know,  for  I  used  t'  sell  nov-els 
once,  ah,  an*  read  'em  too!  But  love's  the  thing,  lad! 
Everybody  loves  to  read  o'  love  —  'specially  old  codgers, 
d'  ye  see  —  gouty  old  coves  as  curse  their  servants,  swear 
at  their  families  and,  hid  in  corners,  shed  tears  over  the 
woes  o'  the  hero  an'  heroine  o'  some  nov-el  an'  stub  their 
gouty  toe  a-kickin'  of  the  villain.  An'  then  there 's  the 
ladies  —  'specially  the  very  young  'uns,  God  bless  their 
bibs  an'  tuckers!  Lord,  how  they  sigh  an'  tremble  an* 
toss  their  pretty  curls  an'  weep  an'  languish.  I  heard  o' 
one  as  always  read  wi'  her  smellin'-salts  handy,  but  then, 
to  be  sure,  she  was  a  maiden  lady  of  uncertain  age  as 
wished  she  was  n't  an'  was  smitten  wi'  love  for  Tom  Jones, 
besides,  poor  soul !  " 

"But  my  book  —  if  I  ever  do  write  one,  will  not  be 
read  by  any  one." 

"  O  ?     Mr.  Perry  —  an'  why  not  ?  " 

"  Being  all  about  Diana,  it  will  be  too  sacred  for  the 
perusal  of  all  and  sundry." 

"  There  you  're  wrong,  lad ;  no  book  can  be  too  sacred! 
for  all  folks  to  read,  if  it's  writ  honestly  and  sincerely. 
An'  what  a  book  you  ought  to  write.  First  there 's  Anna 
an*  yourself — folks  would  like  to  read  about  the  two  o' 


298  Peregrine's  Progress 

ye  —  you  're .  such  strange  children.     Then  there 's  Jes- 
samy  —  a  wonderful  character  for  any  book.     Next  comes 
your  uncles  an'  aunt  —  Lord,  Peregrine,  an'  there's  for 
ye  —  'specially  your  aunt!    And  last — "  said  he,  a  little 
wistfully,  "if  you  want  some  one  to  fill  in,  kind  of  —  to 
keep  th'  pot  a-b'iling  as  it  were,  why  —  there  's  me.     Not 
as  your  readers  will  be  downright  eager  to  read  about  a 
tinker  —  no,  but  you  might  work  me  in  as  a  literary  cove, 
d'  ye  see.    How  about  it  ?    What  d'  ye  think,  Perry  lad  ?  " 
"Excellent  well!"  I  exclaimed.     "You  inspire  me  with 
such   strange   confidence,   Jerry,  I   almost  feel  I   might 
manage  a  book  —  of  sorts." 
"  Then  go  and  try,  lad." 
"  When  —  where  —  how?  " 
"This  minute!     At  home!     By  hard  work!" 
"  You  mean  leave  —  go  back  to  Merivale  —  to-night  ?  " 
"  Aye,  I  do.    You  can  catch  the  mail  at  Tonbridge  and 
you  '11  be  home  afore  the  moon  's  up." 
"Do  you  know  Merivale  then,  Jerry?" 
"  O'  course.    I  '11  harness  Diogenes  an'  drive  you  in." 
And  so,  within  the  hour,  behold  me  upon  the  stage-coach 
that  would  carry  me  within  a  mile  of  home ;  behold  Jerry 
standing  below,  gazing  up  at  me  with  his  wistful  smile,  a 
Jeremy  whose  form  and  features  were  blurred  suddenly 
by  hot  tears  as  the  whip  cracked,  hoofs  stamped,  and  the 
London  Mail  lurched  forward  with  a  shrill  and  jubilant 
fanfare  on  the  horn  that  drowned  my  cry  of  farewell,  as 
Jeremy's  blurred  image  waved  blurred  arm  and,  what  with 
my  tears  and  the  dust,  was  blotted  from  me  altogether. 

With  the  small  incidents  of  this  short  journey  I  will 
not  worry  the  reader.  Suffice  it  that  the  moon  was  high- 
risen  when  at  last  I  reached  Merivale.  The  lodge  gates 
were  shut  for  the  night,  and  being  in  no  mood  to  disturb 
any  one,  I  clambered  over  the  wall  at  an  easily-accessible, 
well-remembered  spot,  and  going  by  familiar  paths,  pres- 
ently beheld  the  house,  its  many  latticed  casements 
winking  ghostly  to  the  moon,  and  a  beam  of  soft  light 
striking  athwart  the  terrace  from  that  chamber  wherein 


How  I  Came  Home  Again    299 

my  aunt  Julia  was  wont  to  write  her  letters  and  transact 
all  business  of  the  estate.  So  thither  came  I  to  find  the 
window  wide  open,  for  the  night  was  hot,  and  to  behold 
my  aunt,  as  handsome  and  statuesque  as  ever,  bent  grace- 
fully above  her  escritoire,  pen  in  white  fist,  like  an  indus- 
trious goddess. 

"  Aunt  Julia,"  said  I,  "  pray  don't  be  startled  —  I 
have  come  home  —  " 

At  this,  though  I  had  spoken  softly,  she  dropped  the 
pen,  rose  and,  clasping  hands  to  bosom,  uttered  a  scream, 
though  sweetly  modulated  and  extremely  ladylike.  Then 
we  were  in  each  other's  arms  and  she  was  weeping  and 
laughing  over  me  in  a  very  ecstasy  of  welcome. 

"  Dear  Peregrine  —  loved  boy,  at  last !  How  brown 
you  are !  You  're  taller,  bigger  —  handsomer,  I  vow  — 
and  you  have  come  back  to  me.  O  Peregrine!  You 
have  come  back  to  my  loving  care,  dearest.  Your  wan- 
derings are  over?  " 

"Yes,  dear  aunt,"  I  answered,  stifling  a  sigh,  "my 
wanderings  are  over." 

"  Oh,  heaven  bless  you,  dear  boy !    God  be  thanked  — 

"  And  what  of  my  good,  generous  uncles,  dear  Aunt?  " 

"  I  have  banished  the  wretches  —  forbade  them  my  pres- 
ence —  " 

"Dear  Aunt,  pray  why?" 

"  Because  they  are  wretches." 

"  Then  to-morrow  we  will  write  and  bid  them  welcome." 

"  Never,  Peregrine  i  " 

"  To-morrow,  dear  Aunt." 

"Peregrine  !"  she  exclaimed,  starting  and  frowning  a 
little,  "I  said,  'Never'!" 

"  And  I  said  '  to-morrow',  dear  Aunt !  " 

"  Boy !  "  she  cried,  lovely  head  proudly  aloft. 

"  Aunt !  "  said  I.  "  How  very  beautiful  you  are ! "  and 
drawing  down  that  lovely  head,  I  kissed  her;  at  this,  she 
flushed,  and  drew  away,  drooping  her  lashes  like  a  girl. 

"Why,  Peregrine!"  she  murmured. 

"They  both  love   you   so  truly  and   faithfully,  dear 


300  Peregrine's  Progress 

Aunt,  and  no  wonder!  And  they  are  such  —  men!  So 
to-morrow  we  will  write  to  them?  " 

"  Very  well,  dear  Peregrine ! "  said  my  proud  aunt, 
softly  and  not  in  the  least  proudly.  "  But  you  are 
hungry,  thirsty  —  you  must  eat  —  " 

"  Thank  you,  no  —  only  weary  —  " 

So  hand  in  hand  she  led  me  to  my  chamber. 

"  See,  dear  boy,  I  have  kept  everything  as  you  left  it ; 
your  bed  is  quite  ready,  the  sheets  aired,  all  waiting  for 
you  when  you  should  choose  to  come." 

She  led  me  about  the  great  chamber,  showing  me  all 
things  as  they  had  been  on  the  night  of  my  departure, 
even  to  the  pen  where  I  had  tossed  it  upon  an  unfinished 
manuscript.  And  no  mention,  never  one  word  of  Diana; 
for  the  which  I  loved  her  and  was  grateful. 

"  Dear  Aunt,"  said  I,  and  kissed  her.  "  O  dear  Aunt 
Julia!" 

But  when  at  last  she  was  gone  and  I  alone  in  the  soft 
luxury  of  this  chamber,  desolation  filled  me  and  I  yearned 
bitterly  for  the  discomforts  of  the  little  camp  within  the 
copse;  the  rustle  of  leaves,  the  soft,  murmurous  gurgle  of 
the  brook,  the  winking  stars  overhead;  for  Jeremy,  and 
Jessamy  Todd  and  my  loved  Diana.  And  coming  to  the 
open  lattice,  I  leaned  there  to  look  upon  the  moon,  this 
other  Diana  so  placid  and  serene.  And  thinking  that  per- 
haps my  Diana  looked  upon  her  even  now,  a  Diana  not  at 
all  placid  and  serene  but  with  sweet,  grey  eyes  a-brim 
with  tears  and  heart  full  of  yearning  tenderness  —  even 
as  mine,  I  fell  upon  my  knees  and  stretching  out  my  arms, 
whispered  words  of  love  with  passionate  prayers : 

"  O  Diana,  beloved  .  .  .  O  God  of  Heaven  — 
God  of  Mercy,  bring  her  back  to  me  at  last  with 
heart  as  sweet  and  pure  —  teach  me  to  be  worthy, 
fit  me  for  such  happiness.  .  .  .  O  loved  Diana  of  the 
Silent  Places,  my  love  goes  with  you  always,  and  for 
ever,  strong,  sweet  goddess  of  my  life. 

.  .  .  Two  years ! " 


TO  THE  READER 

HERE  then,  do  I  end  this  book,  because 
this  is  the  Book  of  Diana  and  she  is  gone 
out  of  my  life. 

So  do  I  lay  down  my  pen  for  a  while, 
uneasily  conscious  of  my  narrative's  many 
imperfections  and  greatly  fearing  that  I 
have  fallen  very  far  short  in  my  descrip- 
tion of  Diana. 

But  what  work  of  man  may  hope  to  be 
utterly  perfect?  And  who  shall  recap- 
ture the  vanished  glory  of  the  dream? 

Here,  then,  do  I  let  fall  the  curtain; 
when  it  rises,  the  world  and  I  shall  be 
two  years  older,  two  years  wiser,  two 
years  better,  or  the  worse. 


Book  Two 
SHADOW 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  INCIDENTS  OF  AN  EARLY  MORNING  WALK 

I  REMEMBER  waking  to  find  myself  very  miserable  in  a 
ghastly  dawn,  where  guttering  candles  flickered  in  their 
sockets,  casting  an  unearthly  light  upon  bottles,  silver- 
ware, and  more  bottles  that  stood  or  lay  amidst  over- 
turned and  broken  glasses;  an  unseemly  jumble  that  lit- 
tered a  long  table  whose  rumpled  cloth  was  plentifully 
besplashed  with  spilled  wine  and  flanked  by  empty  chairs. 

Into  my  drugged  consciousness  stole  a  sound  that  might 
have  been  wind  in  trees,  or  a  mill  race,  or  some  industrious 
artisan  busied  with  a  saw,  yet  which  I  knew  could  be  none 
of  these,  and  my  drowsy  puzzlement  grew.  Therefore  I 
roused  myself  with  some  vague  notion  of  solving  this 
mystery  and  turned  to  behold  in  this  ghastly  light  a 
ghostly  face;  a  handsome  face,  but  very  stern,  square- 
chinned,  black-browed,  aquiline,  scowling  upon  the  dawn. 

"  Uncle  Jervas ! "  said  I,  a  little  thickly.  "  You  look 
like  a  ghost,  sir ! " 

At  this  he  started,  but  when  he  turned,  his  face  was  im- 
passive as  ever. 

"  Shall  I  wish  you  many  happy  returns  of  last  night, 
Nephew?  " 

"God  forbid,  sir!"  said  I,  bowing  aching  head  upon 
my  hands. 

"  It  is  perhaps  a  blessing  to  remember,  Peregrine,  that 
one  comes  of  age  but  once  in  one's  lifetime." 

"It  is,  sir!"  I  groaned.  "Pray  what  —  what  is  that 
sound,  sir  —  so  monotonous  and  —  damnable?" 

"  It  is  rather  an  aggregation  of  sounds,  emanating  in 
unison  from  your  good  friends  the  Marquis  of  Jerning- 


304  Peregrine's  Progress 

ham,  Viscount  Devenham  and  Mr.  Vere-Manville  —  they 
sleep  remarkably  soundly !  " 

**  And  —  the  others,  sir?  " 

"  Departed  in  the  small  hours,  with  your  uncle  George 
—  and  four  of  'em  in  tears !  " 

"  It  was  a  dreadful  night,  sir." 

"  It  was  a  night  of  nights,  Peregrine.  I  remember  only 
one  to  equal  it." 

"  And  that,  sir?  " 

"  Your  father's  coming  of  age.  But  talking  of  ghosts, 
Perry,  I  almost  fancied  I  saw  one  —  no  longer  ago  than 
last  night  —  on  my  way  here.  But  then  I  don't  believe 
in  ghosts  —  and  this  one  was  seated  in  a  closed  carriage 
and  accompanied  by  a  rather  handsome  young  woman  — 
and  she  was  weeping,  I  fancy.  Your  head  aches, 
Nephew  ?  " 

"  Damnably,  Uncle  Jervas.    I  hate  wine !  " 

"  Yet  one  must  drink  occasionally,  boy." 

"  You  can,  sir,"  I  groaned,  "  last  night  you  honoured 
every  toast  —  yet  here  you  sit  —  " 

"  Looking  like  a  ghost,  Nephew." 

"  And  utterly  unaffected,  Uncle." 

"  On  the  contrary,  inordinate  drinking  afflicts  me  hor- 
ribly, Nephew,  stimulates  me  to  thought,  harrows  me  with 
memory,  resurrects  things  best  forgotten!  Ah,  there's 
the  sun  at  last.  I  '11  leave  you,  Peregrine  —  I  '11  out  to 
greet  the  day." 

"  I  should  like  to  walk  with  you  if  I  may,  sir." 

"  By  all  means,  Nephew,  Jt  will  ease  your  head,  per- 
haps." 

And  so,  moving  softly  lest  we  disturb  the  three  sonorous 
sleepers,  a  wholly  unnecessary  precaution,  we  took  our 
hats  and  surtouts  and  stepped  out  into  an  empty  street 
swept  by  a  clean,  soft  wind  that  cooled  my  throbbing 
temples,  and  my  sick  heaviness  was  lifted  somewhat  in  the 
sweet,  pure  breath  of  dawn. 

"  You  have  been  about  town  for  nearly  a  year,  have  n't 
you,  Peregrine?" 


Incidents  of  a  Morning  Walk      305 

"  Yes,  sir,  long  enough  to  teach  me  I  love  the  country 
better  than  I  thought." 

"You  are  sufficiently  dissipated,  I  trust?" 

"I  endeavour  to  be,  sir.  Her  Grace  of  Camberhurst 
shakes  her  head  over  me,  though  I  do  my  best  —  " 

"  Does  it  require  so  great  an  effort?  " 

"  Somewhat,  sir.  You  see,  I  find  dissipation  a  par- 
ticularly wearisome  business." 

"Wearisome,  Nephew?    You  surprise  me!"  ' 

"  And  depressingly  dreary,  Uncle." 

"  You  astonish  me ! " 

"  Indeed,  dissipation  thoroughly  distresses  me."  \ 

"You  amaze  me!    But  you  gamble,  I  presume  ?JJ 

"  When  nothing  better  offers,  sir." 

"  Well  upon  me  everlasting  soul —  !  "  ' 

"  I  hope  I  do  not  shock  you,  Uncle  Jervas  ?  " 

"  Worry  would  be  the  more  apt  word,  perhaps ;  you 
worry  me,  Nephew.  Such  impeccable  virtue  naturally 
suggests  an  early  death — a  harp — a  halo!  And  yet 
you  appear  to  en j  oy  robust  health.  Pray  to  what  do  you 
attribute  your  so  great  immunity  from  those  pleasant 
weaknesses  that  are  so  frequently  a  concomitant  of 
strength  and  youthful  vigour — those  charming  follies, 
bewitching  foibles  that  a  somewhat  rigorous  convention 
stigmatises  as  vices  —  abhorrent  word !  " 

"  You  mean,  sir,  what  excuse  do  I  offer  for  not  being 
politely  vicious  as  seems  so  much  the  fashion  ?  " 

"  I  confess  you  puzzle  me,  boy,  for  you  are  anything 
but  an  angel  in  pantaloons.  I  have  occasionally  thought 
to  remark  in  you  a  hint  of  unplumbed  deeps  —  of  passions 
as  hot  and  fierce  as  —  " 

"  Your  own,  Uncle  Jervas  ?  "  At  this  he  turned  to  glare 
at  me  rather  haughtily,  then  his  eyes  softened,  his  lips 
twitched. 

"  So  women  do  not  appeal  to  you,  Peregrine.  Pray 
why?" 

"  Because  woman  appeals  to  me  so  much  —  one,  sir !  " 

"Ah,  your  roving  gipsy?  " 


306  Peregrine's  Progress 

"Precisely,  sir." 

"  Where  is  she,  at  present  ?  " 

"  I  believe  in  Italy,  sir." 

"  Hum !  Your  friend  Vere-Manville  ran  across  her  in 
Rome,  I  believe.  When  did  you  hear  from  her  last?  " 

"  One  year  and  ten  months  ago,  sir." 

"Painfully  exact!  And  how  many  letters  has  she 
written  you,  may  I  ask?  " 

"  One,  sir." 

"  Hum !  You  know  that  the  Earl  of  Wyvelstoke  has 
made  her  his  ward  and  heiress,  Peregrine?  " 

"  His  lordship  informed  me  of  the  fact,  Uncle." 

"  He  corresponds  with  you,  then?  " 

"  Every  month  without  fail." 

"  Then  of  course  you  know  he  is  returning  to  England 
shortly  and  holds  a  great  reception  at  his  place  in  town, 
a  fortnight  from  to-day,  I  think  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"And  in  the  space  of  two  years  you  have  received  one 
letter  from  your  beautiful  gipsy?  " 

"  Only  one,  sir !  Though  his  lordship  has  kept  me  in- 
formed as  to  her  welfare  and  progress." 

"  Such  sublime  patience  argues  either  indifference  or 
stupendous  faith,  boy !  " 

"  Sir  —  sir,"  cried  I,  stirred  at  last.  "  Oh,  sir,  how 
may  love  be  —  how  endure  without  faith?  " 

"  Yours  is  a  strange  love,  Peregrine,  exceeding  patient 
and  long-suffering!  You  practically  compelled  her  to  — 
accept  his  lordship's  offer,  I  believe?  " 

"Uncle  —  Uncle  Jervas,"  I  stammered,  "how  should 
you  know  this?  " 

"  I  have  the  honour  to  number  the  Earl  of  Wyvelstoke 
among  my  few  friends,  he  writes  to  me  also  —  occasion- 
ally. You  are  an  immensely  confiding  lover,  and  your 
patience  is  almost  —  superhuman." 

"  However,  my  waiting  is  nearly  over,  I  shall  see  her 
soon  —  soon  !  " 

"  In  company  with  every  buck,  Corinthian  and  Maca- 
roni in  London,  Peregrine." 


Incidents  of  a  Morning  Walk      307 

"  Still  —  I  shall  see  her,  sir !  " 

"  If  the  reports  of  her  singing,  her  wit  and  beauty  are 
but  half  true,  Peregrine,  she  will  be  the  rage,  the  universal 
toast." 

"  Still  —  she  will  be  —  Diana,  sir !  " 

"But  two  years,  Nephew  —  wealth,  rank,  adulation  — 
can  these  liave  wrought  no  change,  think  you  ?  " 

"  Only  for  the  better,  sir !  " 

"  Oh,  the  sublime  assurance  of  Youth ! "  murmured  my 
uncle.  "  Have  you  no  doubt  of  yourself,  now  that  you  are 
no  longer  the  —  the  —  ah  — '  only  Richmond  in  the 
field'?" 

Here,  though  I  strove  to  speak,  I  could  not,  but  walked 
with  head  bowed,  but  very  conscious  of  his  keen  scrutiny. 

"  You  are  so  intense,  Perry,"  he  continued  after  a  mo- 
ment, "  so  very,  damnably  intense  that  I  confess  I  grow  a 
little  fearful  lest  you  be  disappointed,  and  therefore  take 
the  liberty  to  annoy  you  with  my  dismal  croakings,  if  I 
may —  shall  I  proceed?  " 

"Pray  do,  sir!" 

"  Then,  Peregrine,  I  would  warn  you  that,  considering 
her  new  attitude  towards  life,  her  very  altered  views  upon 
the  world  in  general,  it  is  only  to  be  expected  your  gipsy 
may  find  you  very  different  from  her  first  estimation  of 
you  —  " 

"  Ah,  there  it  is,  sir  —  there  it  is ! "  I  groaned.  "  The 
haunting  fear  that  to-day  —  measured  by  the  larger 
standard  of  her  new  experiences,  she  may  find  me  fall  very 
far  short  of  what  she  imagines  me  —  " 

"  And  if  this  be  so,  —  how  then?  " 

"  Do  not  ask  me,  sir,  —  don't !  " 

"  The  ordinary,  impassioned  youth,  under  such  un- 
pleasantly frequent  circumstances,  Peregrine,  would  seek 
oblivion  in  bottles  or  fly  instantly  to  all  manner  of  riot  and 
dissipation  and  be  cured  sooner  or  later  —  but  you? 
Knowing  what  I  do  of  your  devilishly  intense  nature,  I 
must  admit  I  am  a  little  disquieted.  You  see,  Peregrine, 
I  have  learned,  though  I  grant  you  a  little  painfully,  still 


308  Peregrine's  Progress 

I  have  learned  at  last  to  —  ah  —  to  care  for  you  so  much 
that  your  unhappiness  would  affect  me  —  rather  cursedly, 
boy  —  yes,  rather  cursedly.*' 

"  Uncle  Jervas,"  said  I,  "  indeed  —  indeed  I  am  proud 
to  have  won  your  esteem ;  I  shall  endeavour  to  be  worthy 
of  it." 

"  Why  then,  Nephew,"  said  he,  slipping  his  arm  into 
mine,  "  whatever  damnable  buffets  Fate  sees  fit  to  deal 
you,  whatever  disappointments  are  in  store,  you  will  of 
course  meet  them  with  a  serene  fortitude  —  eh,  boy?" 

"  You  may  trust  me,  sir.  Not,"  I  continued  hastily 
"not  that  I  anticipate  any  change  of  heart  in  Diana. 
Could  you  but  have  known  her,  sir  —  !  " 

"  Pray  tell  me  of  her,  Peregrine,  if  you  will.*' 

Our  walk  had  brought  us  to  Vauxhall,  and  skirting  the 
gardens  with  their  groves  and  walks,  their  fountains, 
temples  and  grottoes,  we  went  on  beside  the  river,  I  talking 
of  Diana,  my  uncle  listening,  and  both  watching  the  sun 
rise  over  the  great  city,  to  gild  vane  and  weathercock  of 
countless  spires  and  steeples  and  make  a  broad-bosomed 
glory  of  the  noble  river.  Suddenly  my  uncle  halted  to 
point  before  him  with  tasselled  cane  where  two  rough-look- 
ing men,  unconscious  of  our  approach,  were  crouched 
among  the  sedge  beside  the  water. 

"  Let  us  see  what  these  fellows  are  doing !  "  said  he.  So 
we  advanced  until,  being  very  near,  we  halted,  for  now 
indeed  we  saw  only  too  well. 

She  lay  where  they  had  dragged  her,  just  above  the 
hungry  tide,  a  slender,  pitiful  thing,  young  and  beautiful, 
yet  now  dreadfully  pale  and  still,  shrouded  in  her  long, 
wet  tresses ;  a  mute  and  beautiful  thing,  all  heedless  now  of 
the  rough  hands  that  touched  her,  or  the  kindly  sun's 
tender  beam  that  showed  the  pitiful  droop  of  pallid  lips 
and  motionless  lashes,  and  the  slender  fingers  of  the  small, 
right  hand  clenched  in  death.  Even  now,  as  I  stood  bare- 
headed, my  breath  in  check,  one  of  the  fellows  grasped 
this  hand,  wrenched  open  these  delicate  fingers  with  brutal 
strength,  and  finding  within  them  only  a  wisp  of  crumpled 


Incidents  of  a  Morning  Walk      309 

paper,  swore  a  hoarse  oath  of  baffled  cupidity  that 
changed  to  a  howl  as  my  uncle's  cane  rapped  him  smartly 
across  bull-neck. 

"  Detestable  savage ! "  exclaimed  my  uncle,  scowling 
down  into  the  man's  startled  face.  "Learn  reverence  for 
the  dead  1  Now  pass  me  that  paper ! " 

The  man  snarled  a  threat,  whereupon  my  uncle  rapped 
him  again. 

"The  paper  —  do  you  hear  —  animal?" 

The  man  rubbed  his  neck,  muttered  an  oath,  and  gave 
the  wisp  of  paper  to  my  uncle,  who,  without  glancing  at 
it,  took  off  his  hat  and  bowed  his  head. 

"  Poor  soul ! "  he  sighed  gently,  his  impassive  face 
transfigured  by  an  extraordinary  tenderness.  "  Poor 
frightened,  weary  soul  —  so  young,  so  very  young,  and 
now  fled  —  whither?  Poor  —  poor  child —  Stop!  Keep 
your  beastly  hands  off  her!"  This  to  the  bull-necked 
fellow,  who  flinched  and  drew  away,  snarling. 

"  Lumme,  me  lord ! "  whined  the  second  man,  a  small, 
mean  person.  "  What 's  ye  game  ?  She 's  ourn  —  we 
found  'er,  Job  an'  me — seen  'er  out  in  th*  race,  us  did, 
floatin'  s'  pretty,  an'  folleyed  'er,  us  did,  'til  she  came 
ashore.  She  b'longs  t'  us,  me  lord,  as  Job '11  swear  —  to 
diskiver  a  corp'  means  money,  an'  corpses,  'specially  sich 
pretty  'uns,  don't  come  often  enough  — 

"  Pah ! "  cried  my  uncle.  "  There  is  a  hurdle  over 
yonder,  fetch  it  —  you !  "  The  bull-necked  fellow  rose, 
but,  instead  of  complying,  turned  short  and  sprang,  an 
open  knife  in  his  hand;  my  uncle  Jervas  stepped  lightly 
aside,  his  long  arm  shot  out,  and  the  bull-necked  man  went 
down  heavily ;  he  was  in  the  act  of  rising  when  my  uncle 
set  his  foot  upon  the  man's  knife-hand,  placidly  crushed 
and  crushed  it  until  he  roared,  until  the  gripping  fingers 
relaxed  their  hold,  whereupon  my  uncle  kicked  the  knife 
into  the  river. 

"  And  now  —  beast  —  fetch  the  hurdle  yonder ! "  said 
he. 

So  the  men  brought  the  hurdle  and  my  uncle,  stripping 


310  Peregrine's  Progress 

off  his  fine  surtout,  made  therewith  a  pillow  for  the  beau- 
tiful, piteous  head. 

"  And  now,  where  shall  we  take  her?  "  he  demanded. 

"  There 's  an  ale-'us  down  yonder,  me  lord,  nice  an* 
'andy,"  answered  the  little  man.  "Us  gen'ally  takes  'em 
theer." 

"  Ah,  do  you  mean  you  find  many  such?  " 

"  A  tidy  few,  me  lord,  but  not  s'  many  as  us  could  wish, 
d'  ye  see  —  " 

"  Pah !    Let  us  take  her  there.    And  be  gentle  with  her." 

"  Gentle !  "  growled  the  bull-necked  man.  "  'Er  's  dead, 
ain't  'er  — gentle!" 

So  we  moved  off  in  mournful  procession  until  we  came 
to  a  small  waterside  tavern,  whose  inmates  my  uncle  per- 
emptorily awakened,  and  soon  had  forth  a  gruff,  sleepy 
fellow  to  show  the  way  and  unlock  a  tumble-down  out- 
house, into  which  they  bore  their  silent  burden,  followed 
by  my  uncle,  bareheaded. 

As  for  rae,  I  walked  to  and  fro  in  the  sunshine,  feeling 
myself  cold  and  shivering.  At  last  I  heard  the  doors  close 
and  turning,  beheld  my  uncle's  tall,  immaculate  figure 
striding  towards  me. 

"  A  sad  sight,  Perry,  a  dismal,  woeful  sight  —  and 
on  such  a  glorious  morning.  Come,  let  us  go."  So  say- 
ing, he  put  on  his  hat,  sternly  refusing  the  offer  of  my 
outer  coat,  and  taking  my  arm,  we  began  to  retrace  our 
steps.  Suddenly  he  checked,  and  feeling  in  his  pocket, 
brought  forth  that  crumpled  wisp  of  paper  and,  smooth- 
ing it  out,  glanced  at  it  and  I  saw  his  eyes  grow  suddenly 
fierce. 

"  Haredale !  "  said  he  thoughtfully.  "  Haredale?  "  and 
passed  the  paper  to  me  whereon  I  read  these  words, 
blotched  with  water,  yet  still  legible: 

You  are  unreasonable,  but  this  is  feminine. 
You  anger  me,  but  this   is   natural. 
You  weary  me  —  and  this  is  fatal. 

Adieu, 

HAREDALE. 


Incidents  of  a  Morning  Walk      311 

"Haredale!"saidl. 

"Haredale?"  sighed  my  uncle.  "The  name  is  unfa- 
miliar, I  know  none  of  the  name  in  London.  Do  you, 
Peregrine?" 

"No,  sir!"  I  answered.  "No  —  and  yet  —  it  seems 
as  if  —  yes,  I  have  heard  it,  Uncle,  but  not  in  London.  I 
heard  it  mentioned  two  years  ago  —  in  a  wood.  It  was 
spoken  by  a  scoundrel  who  named  himself  Haredale 
though  Lord  Wyvelstoke  addressed  him  as  —  Devereux !  " 

"  Devereux ! "  said  my  uncle  in  so  strange  a  tone  that  I 
lifted  my  gaze  from  the  scrawled  name  and  saw  that  he 
had  removed  his  hat  again  and  was  staring  at  me  with  an 
expression  as  strange  as  his  voice,  his  eyes  fixed  and  intent 
as  though  they  stared  at  things  I  could  not  see,  brow 
wrinkled,  nostrils  expanded,  chin  more  aggressive  than 
usual.  "  Devereux !  Nephew,  you  —  are  sure  it  was  — 
Devereux  ?  " 

"Absolutely,  sir." 

"  Hum !  "  said  my  uncle,  putting  on  his  hat.  "  I  '11 
trouble  you  for  that  scrap  of  paper,  Nephew.  Thanks ! 
Now  let  us  go  on.  Your  headache  is  better,  I  hope?  " 

"  Much  better,  sir.  But  pray  take  my  coat,  you  are 
shivering." 

"  Thank  you,  no  —  there  is  nothing  like  the  early  morn- 
ing, it  fills  one  with  a  zest  of  life,  the  joie  de  vivre  — 
though  I  will  admit  I  am  seldom  abroad  at  this  hour." 

Now  despite  his  light  tone,  I  noticed  two  things,  his  eyes 
were  still  fixed  and  intent  and  a  thin  trickle  of  moisture 
gleamed  beneath  his  hat  brim. 

"Poor  child!"  sighed  my  uncle.  "Let  us  hope  her 
bruised  spirit  has  found  rest,  a  surcease  from  all  troubles. 
Let  us  hope  she  has  found  the  Infinite  Happiness  if  there 
be  such  in  the  Great  Beyond.  Haredale  —  hum!  Have 
you  any  recollection  of  this  man,  Perry;  his  looks,  air, 
voice  —  could  you  describe  him  ?  " 

"  He  was  tall,  sir,  as  yourself,  or  very  nearly  —  looked 
younger  than  his  years  —  a  cold,  imperturbable  man, 
dark,  but  of  pale  complexion,  with  deep-set  eyes  that 


312  Peregrine's  Progress 

seemed  to  glow  strangely.  A  man  of  iron  will  who  fronted 
Lord  Wyvelstoke  unflinchingly  even  after  his  arm  was 
shot  and  broken !  "  And  here  I  described  the  incident  as 
fully  as  possible. 

"  And  what  was  the  name  Lord  Wyvelstoke  used?  " 

"  Devereux,  sir." 

"  Hum !  "  said  my  uncle.  And  thereafter  we  walked  in 
silence  through  streets  beginning  to  stir  with  the  busy 
life  of  a  new  day. 

Reaching  my  uncle's  chambers  in  St.  James's  Street,  he 
paused  in  the  doorway  to  glance  up  and  down  the  street 
with  that  same  expression  of  fixed  intensity,  that  far- 
away look  of  absorption. 

"  This,"  said  he,  speaking  almost  as  with  an  effort, 
"  this  has  been  a  —  somewhat  eventful  walk  of  ours,  Pere- 
grine. I  will  not  invite  you  to  breakfast,  remembering 
you  have  guests  of  your  own.  Au  revoir." 

"  Uncle  Jervas,"  said  I,  as  we  clasped  hands,  "  this  has 
indeed  been  an  eventful  walk,  for  to-day  I  have  learned  to 
know  you  better  than  I  ever  expected,  or  dared  to  hope  — 
sir,  are  you  ill?  "  I  questioned  anxiously,  for  despite  that 
trickle  of  moisture  at  his  temple,  the  hand  I  held  felt 
deadly  cold  and  nerveless.  "  Are  you  ill,  sir?  " 

"  Never  better,  Perry ! "  he  laughed,  clapping  me  lightly 
on  the  shoulder.  "  Get  you  to  your  guests.  And  by  the 
by  —  talking  of  ghosts  and  grimly  spectres  —  egad, 
Perry,  I  almost  believe  they  do  haunt  this  sorry  world, 
sometimes ! "  So  saying,  he  laughed,  turned,  and  was 
gone,  leaving  me  to  stare  after  him  in  anxious  wonderment. 


CHAPTER  II 

INTRODUCING  JASPER  SHKIG,  A  BOW  STREET  RUNNER 

"HAM,  Peregrine?" 

'  Thank  you,  no,  Anthony !  "  said  I,  shuddering  slightly. 
"But  where  are  the  others?     Asleep  still?" 

"  Gone,  Perry.  At  sight  of  this  ham  Jerny  shied  like 
a  wild  colt,  Devenham  moaned,  and  together  they  tottered 
forth  into  the  bleak  world.  Did  you  say  ham,  Perry?" 

"I  — did  — not!" 

"  Beef  then  —  beef  looks  excellent !    Beef  ?  " 

"  Horrible ! "  I  exclaimed,  turning  my  back  on  the 
breakfast  table.  "Eat  if  you  can,  Tony,  but  talk  you 
must  and  shall." 

"Of  last  night,  Peregrine?" 

"Of  Diana.  I've  scarcely  had  a  word  with  you  since 
your  arrival." 

"  Which  was  last  night." 

"How  is  she,  Anthony?  Is  she  indeed  handsomer  — 
lovelier?  Did  she  seem  happy?  Did  she  talk  about  — 
did  she  —  happen  to  mention  —  " 

"  She  did,  Perry,  talked  of  you  frequently,  very  much 
so!  Won't  you  try  a  cup  of  coffee  and  a  crust  — " 

"Tell  me  how  —  where  you  first  met  her." 

"  It  was  at  the  ambassador's  ball  and  mark  you,  Perry, 
there  were  some  uncommonly  fine  women  there,  though 
none  of  'em,  no,  damme,  not  one  to  compare  with  my  Love- 
liness, of  course  —  " 

"You  mean  Barbara?" 

"Of  course.  Well,  my  boy,  we'd  made  our  bow  and 
here  was  Loveliness  worrying  in  her  pretty  fashion  be- 
cause my  cravat  had  shifted  or  some  such,  and  here  was 
I  pulling  at  the  thing  and  saying,  '  Yes,  dear/  and  making 
it  worse  when,  as  the  poet  says,  '  amid  this  glittering 
throng  of  lovely  women  and  gallant  men  '  my  charmed 


314  Peregrine's  Progress 

eye  alighted  upon  a  haughty  beauty,  a  ravishing  creature 
condescending  to  be  worshipped  by  a  crowd  of  fawning 
slaves,  civilian,  soldier  and  sailor  of  all  stations  and 
ranks,  from  purple-faced  admirals  and  general  officers  to 
pink,  downy-whiskered  subalterns.  '  Egad,  Loveliness,' 
says  I,  jerking  at  my  cravat,  'what  asinine  fools  brave 
men  and  gallant  gentlemen  can  make  of  themselves  for 
lovely  woman  —  look  yonder!'  *  Where?'  says  she. 
*  There ! '  says  I,  '  the  dark,  dazzling  beauty  yonder ! '  So 
Loveliness  looks,  and  at  that  very  moment  Beauty  breaks 
from  the  abject  circle  of  her  fawning  slaves  and  comes 
running.  *  Diana ! '  cries  Loveliness.  *  Barbara ! '  cries 
Beauty,  and  they  are  in  each  other's  arms  —  and  there 
you  are,  Perry.  Astonishing  how  they  love  each  other. 
So  when  I  left  to  attend  this  birthday  of  yours,  Loveliness 
must  stay  with  her  Diana  —  I  miss  her  most  damnably !  " 

"Has  she  so  many  admirers?"  I  sighed. 

"Hordes  of  'em,  Perry!  Troops,  squadrons,  regi- 
ments, begad !  So  has  my  Loveliness,  for  that  matter." 

"And  are  you  never  jealous?" 

"  Devil  a  bit,  dear  fellow.  Though,"  said  he,  slowly 
clenching  his  right  hand  into  a  powerful  fist  and  scowling 
down  at  it,  "  given  the  occasion  —  I  could  be,  Perry,  y-e-s, 
madly,  brutally  —  I  could  kill  —  do  murder,  I  believe. 
Oh,  pshaw!  My  Barbara  is  so  sweet,  so  purely  a  thing 
of  heaven  that  sometimes  I  —  I  hate  myself  for  not  having 
been  better  —  more  worthy.  Women  are  so  infinitely 
better  than  ourselves,  or  so  infinitely  —  worse.  And  she 
sent  you  a  letter  —  here  it  is !  " 

"A  letter?    Diana?    Where?" 

"  A  snack  of  ham  or  beef  first,  Perry,  love  letters  don't 
go  over-well  on  empty  stomachs  —  "  But  here  I  caught 
the  letter  from  him  and  sat  with  it  in  fingers  that  shook 
a  little,  staring  at  the  superscription. 

"  Her  writing  has  improved  amazingly !  "  said  I. 

"Dear  fellow,"  he  answered,  sharpening  the  carving 
knife  quite  unnecessarily,  "  go  away  and  read  it,  seek 
some  quiet  spot  and  leave  me  to  eat  in  peace." 


Introducing  a  Bow  Street  Runner  315 

"  Thanks,  Tony,"  said  I  gratefully,  and  hastened  into 
the  next  room  forthwith,  there  to  read  and  re-read  the 
superscription,  to  commit  all  those  tender  follies  natural 
to  lovers  and  finally  to  break  the  seal. 

DEAR,  DEAR  MY  PEREGRINE: 

Very  soon  we  shall  see  each  other,  and  this  thought  makes 
me  tremble  with  alternate  happiness  and  dread.  Yes,  dread, 
my  Peregrine,  because  these  years  have  changed  me  in  many 
ways  —  oh,  shall  I  please  you  as  I  am  now  ?  Will  you  love 
me  as  you  did  when  I  was  only  your  humble  Diana  of  the 
Silent  Places  ?  For  Peregrine,  you  loved  me  then  so  very 
much,  so  truly  and  with  such  wonderful  unselfishness  that 
I  am  afraid  you  may  not  love  the  Diana  of  to-day  quite  so 
well  as  the  Diana  of  two  years  ago.  But  dear  Peregrine, 
know  that  my  heart  is  quite  —  quite  unchanged ;  you  will  al- 
ways be  the  one  man  of  all  others,  the  Peregrine  whose  gen- 
erous love  lifted  me  high  above  my  girlish  dreams  but  never 
oh,  never  any  higher  than  his  own  heart.  So  Peregrine,  love 
me  when  I  come  back  to  you  or  these  long  two  years  will 
have  been  lived  in  vain  and  I  shall  run  away  back  to  the 
Silent  Places  and  die  an  old  maid.  Perhaps  I  shall  seem 
strange  when  we  meet,  but  this  will  only  be  because  I  fear 
you  a  little  and  doubt  a  little  how  you  may  feel  towards  this 
new  Diana  —  so  love  me,  let  me  see  it  in  your  eyes,  hear  it 
in  your  voice.  It  is  so  much  easier  to  write  than  to  say,  so 
I  will  write  it  again  —  Love  me,  Peregrine,  love  me  because 
I  am  yours  —  now  and  always. 

DIANA. 

Having  read  this  letter  I  laid  it  down  and  took  from 
an  inner  pocket  another  letter,  somewhat  worn  and  frayed 
by  over-much  handling,  which  bore  these  words,  smudged 
and  blotted  a  little,  though  written  with  painful  care. 

DEAR  PERRYGREEN: 

Your  letter  has  made  me  cry  dredfully.  I  cannot  bear  to 
think  of  you  so  lonly  because  I  am  lonly  to.  I  cannot  bear 
to  think  of  you  on  your  nees  I  would  rather  think  of  you  as 
I  saw  you  last  so  brave  and  determined.  Pray  for  me  as 
I  pray  for  you  only  don't  rite  to  me  or  I  shall  run  back  to 


3i 6  Peregrine's  Progress 

you  because  I  am  not  very  brave  and  want  you  so.     O  dear 
Perrygreen  always  love 

YOUR  DIANA. 


"  You  're  looking  confoundedly  glum,  Perry ;  I  hope  the 
billet  is  quite  sufficiently  dotuc?  " 

"  Quite  —  indeed,  quite !  "  said  I,  starting  out  of  my 
reverie.  *'  It  is  a  letter  such  as  only  Diana  could  have 
written  —  " 

"  Then  your  woe  undoubtedly  proceeds  from  stomach ; 
for  the  emptiness  of  same  I  prescribe  ham,  shall  we  say 
mingled — judiciously  blended  —  with  beef  — 

"  Abhorrent  thought !  "  I  exclaimed.  At  this  moment, 
after  a  discreet  knock  on  the  door,  my  valet  Clegg  en- 
tered. 

"  Sir,"  said  he  in  his  soft  and  toneless  voice,  "  the 
groom  is  below;  shall  you  ride  or  drive  this  morning?" 

" Neither!"  I  answered,  whereupon  Clegg  bowed  and 
withdrew. 

"  Excellent !  "  nodded  Anthony.  "  Nothing  like  walk- 
ing to  make  an  empty  stomach  aware  of  its  vacuity.  By 
the  way,  queer  article  that  Clegg  fellow  of  yours  —  face 
like  a  mask !  Where  did  you  pick  him  up?  " 

"  I  don't  remember.  He  had  excellent  references,  I 
believe.  Why  do  you  ask?  " 

"  Fancy  I  've  seen  him  before.  Come,  let  us  adventure 
forth  in  search  of  your  appetite." 

To  us  in  the  hall  came  Clegg  to  bring  our  hats  and 
canes. 

"  Were  you  ever  in  the  service  of  a  Captain  Danby  ?  " 
enquired  Anthony,  his  keen  gaze  on  Clegg's  impassive  face. 

"Yes,  sir,  I  was  valet  to  Captain  Marmaduke  Danby 
—  two  years  ago." 

"  I  saw  you  with  him  once  at  a  small  inn  called  *  The 
Jolly  Waggoner.' ' 

Clegg  bowed  deferentially,  but  when  he  looked  up  his 
pale  eyes  seemed  to  glow  strangely  and  his  pallid  cheek 
was  slightly  flushed. 


Introducing  a  Bow  Street  Runner  317 

"  Yes,  sir,  Captain  Danby  sent  for  me  to  attend  him 
there  —  I  found  him  in  bed  exceedingly  —  unwell.  He 
was  —  suffering,  sir.  He  suffered  quite  a  —  good  deal  of 
—  pain,  sir  —  of  pain." 

Saying  which,  Clegg  bowed  us  out  into  the  street  with 
a  deeper  obeisance  than  usual. 

"  Strange !  "  said  Anthony,  taking  my  arm.  "  You 
have  probably  forgotten  this  Danby,  the  fellow  I  had  the 
pleasure  of  thrashing,  Perry?  " 

"  I  shall  never  forget  how  you  stood  on  him  and  wiped 
your  boots,  Anthony." 

"  I  did  chastise  him  somewhat  severely,  I  remember. 
But  I  learned  something  more  of  his  villainy  from  Bar- 
bara, as  we  drove  away,  and  I  returned  next  day  to  give 
him  another  dose  but  found  him  in  bed  bandaged  like  a 
mummy  and  this  Clegg  fellow  of  yours  beside  him.  I 
learned  afterwards  that  he  was  friend  to  that  same 
scoundrel  Barbara's  father  was  forcing  the  sweet  soul  to 
marry,  damn  him ! " 

"  The  world  seems  full  of  unhanged  villains ! "  said  I, 
through  shut  teeth. 

"  Oh,  is  it,  begad?  " 

"  It  is  !  " 

"  You  're  devilish  gloomy,  Perry." 

"  I  fear  I  am." 

"  All  stomach,  y'  know,  dear  fellow.  I  've  noticed  this 
poor  old  world  is  generally  blamed  most  damnably,  purely 
because  of  the  night  of  the  morning  after  —  more  es- 
pecially upon  an  empty  —  " 

"  Don't  say  it  again,  Anthony,  for  heaven's  sake ! " 

"  But  you  're  curst  gloomy  and  devilish  doleful  - 

"  Anthony,  dear  man,  while  you  were  snoring  blissfully 
this  morning  I  watched  a  poor,  beautiful  young  creature 
dragged  out  of  the  river." 

"Dead,  Perry?" 

"Yes.  She  was  probably  drowning  herself  last  night 
while  we  drank  and  rioted  —  poor  despairing  child !  "  and 
here  I  described  the  dreadful  incident  very  fully.  "  You 


3  1 8  Peregrine's  Progress 

have  never  met  or  heard  of  any  one  named  Haredale,  have 
you,  Anthony  ?  "  I  ended. 

"  No,"  he  answered,  "  no !  Gad,  Perry,"  he  burst  out 
with  a  vicious  twirl  of  his  cane,  "  there  are  times  when 
killing  is  a  laudable  act ! ".  After  this  we  walked  in 
silence  for  some  time. 

"Where  are  we  going?"  he  questioned  suddenly. 

Hereupon  I  glanced  up,  for  I  had  walked  with  my  gaze 
bent  earthward,  and  saw  that  we  were  close  upon  the  river. 

"  Since  we  are  here,"  I  answered,  "  I  will  show  you  where 
it  —  she  lies.  It  was  yonder  they  found  her,  and  over 
there,  beyond  those  trees,  is  a  wretched  tavern  — 

"  And  on  the  other  side  of  the  hedge,  Perry,  is  a  small, 
unpleasant  person  who  peeps  and  peers  and  follows.  Let 
us  investigate ! " 

So  saying,  Anthony  turned  suddenly  and  confronted  a 
small,  mean-looking  fellow  who  starting  back  out  of  reach, 
touched  a  shaggy  eyebrow,  cringed,  and  spoke: 

"  No  offence,  my  lords  an'  gents  —  none  in  th'  world, 
s'  help  me  true !  "  Having  said  which,  he  clapped  fingers 
to  mouth  and  whistled  very  shrilly.  "  Not  by  no  means 
nowise  meanin'  no  offence,  my  lords,"  quoth  he  apologeti- 
cally, "  but  dooty  is  dooty  —  an*  'ere  'e  be !  "  Glancing 
whither  he  pointed,  I  saw  a  man  approaching,  a  shortish, 
broad-shouldered,  square-faced,  leisurely  person  in  a 
broad-brimmed,  low-crowned  hat  and  full-skirted  frieze 
greatcoat;  a  man  of  slow  gait  and  deliberate  movement 
but  with  a  quick  and  roving  eye. 

"Th'  little  'un's  th'  gent,  guv'nor  — 'e's  th'  cove!" 
whispered  the  mean-looking  fellow  hoarsely,  and  now  I 
recognised  him  as  one  of  the  two  waterside  characters  I 
had  met  that  morning  with  my  uncle  Jervas.  The  man  in 
the  frieze  coat  removed  his  hat,  bobbed  round  head  at 
Anthony,  at  me,  and  spoke,  addressing  himself  to  me : 

"  'T  is  in  ewidence,  sir,  as  you  an'  another  gent  'appened 
to  be  a-passin'  by  when  a  lately  de-funct  o'  the  fe-male 
persuasion  vas  took  out  o'  th'  river  at  the  hour  o'  four- 
two-two  pre-cisely,  this  'ere  werry  mornin'.  Am  I  right  ?" 


Introducing  a  Bow  Street  Runner  319 

"  That  is  so,"  I  answered. 

'T  is  also  in  ewidence,  sir,  as  you  an'  your  friend 
'appening  to  pass  —  by  chance  or  de-sign,  so  werry  re- 
markable early  in  the  mornin',  stopped  to  ob-serve  same 
de-funct  party  o'  the  fe-male  persuasion.  Am  I  right 
again  ?  " 

"  We  did." 

"  'T  is  furthermore  in  ewidence,  sir,  that  upon  ob-serving 
corpse,  you  an'  your  friend  seemed  werry  much  took 
aback,  not  to  say  overcome.  Am  I  —  " 

"  They  was,  Jarsper,  they  was  —  oncommon !  "  quoth 
the  smaller  man  hoarsely. 

"  'Enery,  'old  your  tongue !  Now,  sir,  am  I  right  or 
am  I  not  ?  " 

"We  were  both  very  naturally  shocked,"  said  I. 

:<  Vioh  feelin's,  sir,  does  you  both  /credit  —  oceans. 
But  't  is  further  in  ewidence  as  your  friend  did  commit  a 
assault  upon  the  body  o'  one  Thomas  Vokins  by  means 
of  a  cane  an'  there  an'  then  took,  removed,  appre'ended 
or  ab-stracted  ewidence  in  the  shape  o'  a  piece  o'  paper 
as  'ad  fell  from  right  'and  o'  said  corpse.  Am  I  right 
once  more  ?  " 

"  Not  altogether ! "  said  I.  "  The  man  wrenched  open 
the  dead  girl's  fingers  so  brutally  that  my  —  companion 
very  properly  rapped  him  with  his  cane  and  noticing  the 
piece  of  paper,  ordered  the  man  to  give  it  to  him." 

"Good  —  werry  good!  Now  I  puts  it  to  you,  sir  — 
vere  is  that  piece  o'  paper?  " 

"  Probably  in  my  companion's  possession." 

"Good  again!     An*  vere  might  'e  be?" 

"  That  I  decline  to  tell  you ! " 

"  Vy  then,  sir,  dooty  bein'  dooty,  I  '11  take  a  valk." 

"  As  you  will !  "  said  I.  "  Come,  Anthony !  "  and  turn- 
ing, we  began  to  retrace  our  steps.  But  we  had  gone 
but  a  little  way  when  I  faced  suddenly  about,  for  the 
man  was  plodding  at  our  heels. 

"Why  the  devil  do  you  follow  us?"  I  demanded, 
greatly  exasperated. 


320  Peregrine's   Progress 

"  Becos'  dooty  is  dooty,  sir,  an'  dooty  demands  same," 
he  answered  imperturbably. 

"Who  are  you,  fellow?" 

"  Jarsper  Shrig,  Bow  Street  officer  —  werry  much  at 
your  service,  sir !  " 

"  And  what  do  you  want  of  me?  " 

"  A  piece  o'  paper,  sir,  as  ewidence  to  establish  i-dentifi- 
cation  of  de-funct  young  party  o'  the  fe-male  persuasion 
in  a  case  o'  murder  or  feller-de-see  —  " 

Here  I  turned  and  walked  on  again  in  no  little  per- 
plexity. 

"What  am  I  to  do,  Anthony?"  I  muttered. 

"  Bring  the  fellow  to  your  chambers,  despatch  a  note 
to  Sir  Jervas  and  leave  it  to  his  decision." 

So  we  walked  on,  perfectly  ignoring  this  very  per- 
tinacious Bow  Street  officer;  but  I,  for  one,  was  not 
sorry  when  at  last  we  reached  the  door  of  my  chambers, 
and  halting,  turned  to  behold  the  Bow  Street  officer,  who 
had  stopped  also  and  appeared  to  be  lost  in  contempla- 
tion of  the  adjacent  chimney  pots.  And  as  he  stood  thus, 
I  was  struck  by  his  air  of  irreproachable  respectability 
and  pervading  mildness ;  despite  the  formidable  knotted 
stick  beneath  his  arm,  he  seemed  indeed  to  radiate  benevo- 
lence from  the  soles  of  his  stout  boots  to  the  crown  of  his 
respectable,  broad-brimmed  hat. 

"  A  re-markable  vide-avake  young  man,  yours,  sir," 
said  he  gently,  still  apparently  lost  in  contemplation  of 
the  chimney  pots,  "a  re-markable  vatchful  young  man 
an'  werry  attentive !  " 

"What  do  you  mean,  officer?" 

"  I  mean,  sir,  as  he 's  opened  your  door  afore  you 
knocked." 

Glancing  at  the  door,  I  saw  indeed,  to  my  surprise, 
that  it  stood  slightly  ajar;  hereupon  I  reached  out  to 
open  it  when  it  swung  wide  and  my  man  Clegg  stood  before 
us. 

"  I  saw  you  approaching,  sir,"  he  exclaimed,  bowing  us 
in. 


Introducing  a  Bow  Street  Runner  321 

Reaching  my  small  library,  the  officer  seated  himself 
nt  my  invitation  and  depositing  hat  and  stick  very  pre- 
cisely beneath  his  chair,  sat  looking  more  unctuously  mild 
than  ever,  there  was  about  him  a  vague  suggestion  of 
conventicles,  and  a  holy  Sabbatarian  calm. 

"You  said  your  name  was  Shrig,  I  think?"  said  I. 

"  Jarsper  Shrig,  sir,  at  your  sarvice." 

"  Then  perhaps,  while  I  write  my  letter,  you  will  take 
a  glass  of  wine,  Mr.  Shrig?  " 

"  Sir,"  he  answered,  "  not  beating  about  no  bushes,  I 
vill  —  Mr.  Werricker,  sir." 

"  You  know  my  name?  "  I  exclaimed  a  little  sharply. 

"I  dedooce  same,  sir,  from  them  three  letters  on  your 
secretary  as  is  a-staring  me  straight  in  the  face,  Mr. 
Werricker." 

"  Pray,  Anthony,  oblige  me  by  ringing  the  bell ! "  said 
I,  taking  up  my  pen. 

Soft-treading,  the  discreet  Clegg  duly  brought  in  de- 
canter and  glasses,  and  Mr.  Shrig,  watching  him  pour 
out  the  wine,  drew  from  his  capacious  pocket  a  little  book 
and  opened  it,  much  as  though  he  would  have  read  forth 
a  text  of  Scripture,  but  all  he  said  was: 

"  Thank  'ee,  my  man !  "  and  then,  as  the  door  closed 
upon  the  discreetly  silent  Clegg,  "  Your  'ealth,  gen'el- 
men ! " 

The  letter  to  my  uncle  Jervas  being  written  and  des- 
patched, I  turned  to  find  Mr.  Shrig  busied  with  his  little 
book  and  a  stumpy  pencil,  much  as  if  he  had  been  com- 
posing a  sermon  or  address,  while  Anthony,  lounging 
upon  the  settee,  watched  him  with  lazy  interest. 

"  A  on-commonly  taking  cove,  sir,  that  young  man  o* 
yourn ! "  said  Mr.  Shrig,  pocketing  book  and  pencil. 

"Not  more  so  than  other  servants,  I  believe,"  I  an- 
swered. 

"And  all  valets,"  murmured  Anthony,  "all  valets  are 
predatory  by  nature,  of  course  — " 

"  I  mean  as  he  *s  a  likely  cove.  Now,  talkin'  o'  corpses 
— "  began  Mr.  Shrig. 


322  Peregrine's  Progress 

"  But  we  are  not !  "  said  I. 

"Axing  your  parding,  sir,  but  I  am  and,  perfession- 
ally  speakin',  never  'ave  I  seen  a  prettier  corp',  than  this 
'ere  young  fe-male  in  question  — " 

"And  your  experience  in  such  is  vast,  I  take  it?" 
murmured  Anthony. 

"  None  waster,  sir !     Wast  is  the  werry  vord  for  it." 

"  Do  you  tliink  this  is  a  case  of  suicide  or  murder?  " 
enquired  Anthony. 

"  Can't  say,  sir.  But  somevun  's  allvays  bein'  mur- 
dered, murderin'  or  goin'  for  to  murder  somevun,  somevere 
or  t'  other." 

"  Sounds  cheery ! "  murmured  Anthony.  "  Do  you 
catch  many  murderers  ?  " 

"  Pretty  fair,  sir,  pretty  fair.  I  got  a  special  aptitood 
for  it;  I  can  smell  murder  in  the  werry  air,  feel  it,  taste 
it  —  " 

"  Must  be  devilish  unpleasant !  "  said  Anthony. 

"  'T  is  a  nat'ral  gift  wi'  me,  sir.  Lord  love  ye,  gen'el- 
men,  I  can  p'int  you  out  a  murderer  afore  the  fact 's  com- 
mitted —  I  've  got  the  names  o'  four  on  'em  —  no,  five  — • 
wrote  down  in  my  little  reader,  five  werry  promisin'  coves 
as  is  doo  for  the  deed  at  any  moment ;  I  'm  a  vaitin'  for 
'em  to  bring  it  off,  sirs.  Lord,  I  'm  a  vatchin'  over  'em 
like  a  feyther  an'  mother  rolled  into  vun,  an'  v'en  they 
do  commit  the  deed,  I  shall  appre'end  'em  red-'anded  an' 
up  they  '11  go." 

"  Your  methods  are  highly  original,  Mr.  Shrig,"  said 
I,  "but  do  they  always  work  correctly?" 

"  Ever  an'  always,  sir  —  barrin'  accidents.  O'  course, 
there's  many  a  promisin'  murderer  died  afore  'e  could 
do  the  deed,  death  'as  no  more  respect  for  vould-be  mur- 
derers than  for  their  wictims.  But  whenever  I  sees  a  cove 
or  covess  with  the  true  murderer's  face,  down  goes  that 
cove  or  covess'  name  in  my  little  reader,  an'  I  vatches  an* 
vaits  for  'em  to  bring  it  off,  werry  patient." 

"  Have  you  written  down  the  name  of  Haredale  in  your 
little  book?"  I  enquired. 


Introducing  a  Bow  Street  Runner  323 

"  Haredale,  Mr.  Werricker,  sir  ?  V'y  no,  I  ain't.  V'y 
should  I,  sir?  Vot  ha'  you  to  tell  me  about  any  party, 
name  o'  Haredale?" 

"  Only  that  you  will  find  such  a  name  on  the  piece 
of  paper  you  are  after." 

Mr.  Shrig's  roving  eye  fixed  me  for  a  moment. 

"Haredale?"  he  muttered,  shaking  his  head,  "Hare- 
dale?" 

At  this  juncture,  with  a  soft  knock  on  the  door,  Clegg 
presented  himself,  bearing  the  following  letter  from  my 
uncle. 

MY  DEAR  PEREGRINE: 

I  am  grateful  for  your  forethought,  but  you  may  suffer 
the  man  to  visit  me,  for  the  law  is  the  law  —  besides,  the 
man  Shrig  is  an  old  acquaintance.  Moreover  I  have  learned 
all  I  desired  from  the  scrap  of  paper  and  it  is  therefore  en- 
tirely at  Mr.  Shrig's  service.  Should  you  still  be  suffering 
from  spleen,  liver  or  the  blue  devils,  go  for  a  gallop  on 
your  "  Wildfire." 

With  which  salutary  advice  to  yourself  and  good  wishes  to 
your  friend  Mr.   Vere-Manville, 
I   REST, 

YOUR  AFFECTIONATE  UNCLE, 

JERVAS. 

"  Mr.  Shrig,"  said  I,  "  you  have  my  uncle's  permission 
to  wait  upon  him  at  once.  Sir  Jervas  is  acquainted  with 
you,  it  seems?" 

"  Sir  Jervas  ?  "  repeated  Mr.  Shrig,  reaching  down  for 
hat  and  knobby  stick.  "  Ackvainted?  I  should  say  so, 
sir !  A  reg'lar  bang-up  blood,  a  downright  'eavy  toddler 
—  oh,  I  know  Sir  Jervas,  ackvainted  is  the  werry  i-denti- 
cal  name  for  it!  So,  with  your  permission,  sir,  I'll  be 
padding  on  my  vay." 

"You  will  find  him  at  his  chambers  in — " 

"  St.  James's  Street,  nigh  opposite  to  Vite's,  Mr.  Wer- 
ricker, sir.  Ah  many 's  the  drop  o'  French  brandy,  glass 
o'  port  or  sherry  as  I  've  drank  to  the  'ealth  o'  your  uncle 


324  Peregrine's   Progress 

in  them  werry  i-dentical  chambers,  sir.  A  gent  wi'  a 
werry  elegant  taste  in  crime  is  Sir  Jervas.  No,  don't 
trouble  to  come  down,  sir,  your  young  man  shall  let  me 
out.  A  reg'lar  treasure  that  'ere  young  man  o'  yours, 
Mr.  Werricker!  Good  morning,  gen'elmen  both,  my  best 
respex ! " 

So  saying,  Mr.  Shrig  bobbed  his  head  to  us  in  turn, 
beamed  as  it  might  have  been  in  benediction,  and  took 
himself  away. 


CHAPTER  III 

CONCERNING   A    BLACK    POSTCHAISE 

"  BEGAD,  Perry,  but  that 's  a  vicious  brute  of  yours ! " 
cried  Anthony.  This  as  Wildfire  curvetted,  snorting, 
sidled  and  performed  an  impassioned  dance  upon  the 
footpath. 

"  Not  exactly  vicious,  Tony,"  I  demurred  when  I  had 
quelled  this  exuberance,  "  merely  animal  spirits.  Wild- 
fire is  a  high-strung  creature  requiring  constant  thought 
and  attention  and  is  consequently  interesting,  besides 
which  —  " 

Here  a  shriek  and  hoarse  shouts  as,  by  means  of  whip 
and  curb  and  spur,  I  swung  the  animal  in  question  from 
the  dangerous  proximity  of  a  shop  window  and  checked 
his  impulse  to  walk  on  his  hind  legs. 

"  Scarcely  a  lady's  pad,  Peregrine ! "  grinned  Anthony, 
as  I  came  perilously  near  upsetting  a  coster's  barrow,  to 
its  owner's  vociferous  indignation.  "  Egad,  a  four-footed 
devil  warranted  to  banish  every  other  worry  but  him- 
self!" 

"  Precisely,"  said  I,  when  my  steed,  moderating  his  ar- 
dour, permitted  me  coherent  speech.  "And  this  is  the 
reason  I  ride  him.  No  one  mounted  on  Wildfire  can  think 
of  anything  but  Wildfire  and  this  is  sometimes  a  blessing." 

"How  so,  Perry?" 

"  Well,  I  am  harassed  of  late  by  two  obsessions  —  the 
memory  of  that  poor — drowned  child —  I  cannot  forget 
her  face ! " 

"But,  deuce  take  it,  man  —  this  was  days  and  days 
ago." 

"And  the  other  is,  strangely  enough  —  Diana, 
thought  that  I  shall  meet  her  so  soon  —  a  nameless  doubt 
—  an  indefinable  dread  —  " 


326  Peregrine's  Progress 

"Dread,  Perry?  Doubt?  What  the  dooce  d'  yc 
mean  ?  " 

"That's  the  devil  of  it,  Anthony  —  I  —  don't  know. 
But  I  have  a  vague  fear  —  a  presentiment,  if  you  like.  I 
feel  as  if  there  was  a  dreadful  something  impending  —  a 
shadow  —  " 

"Oh,  pshaw,  man!  Shadow?  Tush  an*  be  damned 
to  it !  You  're  in  a  devilish  low  state  —  indubitably 
stomach  —  " 

Here  further  converse  was  ended  for  the  time  being  by 
Wildfire  taking  it  into  his  head  to  snort  and  start,  to 
prance  and  shiver  at  a  large  man  in  velveteens  and  a 
leather  hat,  whereupon  Velveteens  backed  hastily  and 
swore;  Wildfire  reared  and  plunged  at  him,  whereupon 
Velveteens  dodged  into  a  doorway,  cursing  vehemently; 
people,  at  a  safe  distance,  shouted ;  boys  hooted ;  and  then, 
having  thus  drawn  attention  to  himself,  Wildfire  trotted 
daintily  on  again,  leaving  Velveteens  spent  and  breathless 
with  indignant  cursings. 

So  with  such  minor  unpleasantnesses  as  roaring  oaths, 
curses  and  personal  vilification,  we  won  free  of  the  denser 
traffic  and  had  at  last  left  the  great  city  behind  us  and 
Wildfire's  scornful  hoofs  were  spurning  the  dust  of  Kent 
Street. 

We  rode  by  New  Cross  and  Lewjsham,  through  Lee  Vil- 
lage with  its  two  "  Tiger  "  Inns  and  the  stocks  upon  the 
green,  through  Eltham  with  the  timeworn  gables  of  its  an- 
cient palace  rising  on  our  right,  dreaming  of  past  glories. 

"  To-morrow  night,  Perry  —  to-morrow  night  we  shall 
see  'em  !  My  Loveliness  !  Egad,  I  'm  only  just  beginning 
to  realise  how  damnably  I  miss  her!  Wonderful  institu- 
tion, marriage.  To-morrow,  Perry!  And  the  day  after 
—  home  at  Nettlestead  Abbey  —  she  and  I.  She  loves  the 
old  place  —  and  the  roses  will  be  in  bloom  —  she  adores 
roses.  This  is  why  I  'm  dragging  you  down  to  Nettlestead 
— must  see  everything  shipshape — the  old  place  ready — 
with  its  arms  out  to  welcome  her  home,  d'  ye  see  —  as  it 
were." 


Concerning  a  Black  Postchaise     327 

"  It  is  a  glorious  old  place,  Anthony."  "* 
"A  curst  dreary  hole  without  her,  Perry  {*'  Nothing 
like  marriage,   Perry!     You'll  give   up  your  chambers 
when  you  're  married,  of  course?  " 

"I  suppose  so,  Tony  —  when  I'm  married." 
"  Aha ! "  he  exclaimed,  evidently  struck  by  my  gloomy 
tone.  "  Is  it  your  damned  shadow  again  —  the  blue  devils  ? 
Oh,  curse  and  confound  'em,  I'll  race  you  t'  the  next 
milestone  for  ten  guineas.  Come  on!  Yoicks,  boy  — hark 
forward !  A  touch  o'  the  persuaders  —  and  away ! " 

With  a  clatter  of  eager  hoofs  Anthony's  raking  sorrel 
sprang  ahead;  but  away  in  pursuit  leapt  my  beautiful 
roan,  shapely  head  out-thrust,  snorting,  quivering,  pas- 
sionate for  the  fray. 

Off  and  away,  with  the  rhythmic  swing  and  beat  of 
swift-galloping  hoofs  below  and  the  rush  of  wind  above  — 
a  clean,  sweet  wind,  full  of  health  and  sanity,  to  banish 
haunting  dread  and  gloomy  doubts  of  the  future  together 
with  the  devils  that  begot  them,  be  they  blue  devils,  black, 
or  any  other  colour. 

Faster  and  faster  sped  the  road  beneath  me,  hedges 
spun  by,  tree  and  gate  flitted  past  as,  untouched  by  whip 
or  spur,  Wildfire  fell  to  his  long,  racing  stride,  an  easy, 
stretching  gallop.  And  ever  he  gained  upon  the  sorrel, 
creeping  up  inch  by  inch,  crupper  and  withers  and  nose; 
and  thus  we  raced  awhile,  neck  and  neck.  And  now  above 
quick-thudding  hoofs  and  creaking  leather  I  heard  An- 
thony's voice  urging  his  animal  to  fiercer  effort,  for  slowly 
but  surely,  we  were  drawing  away;  slowly  the  sorrel's 
great  crest  and  flaring  nostrils  fell  to  the  rear,  back  and 
back,  level  with  my  gloved  hands,  my  knee,  my  elbow,  out 
of  my  view,  and  presently,  glancing  behind,  I  saw  Anthony 
riding  like  a  centaur  —  a  wildly-galloping  figure  blurred 
in  a  storm  of  dust- 
But  on  I  rode,  heedless  of  all  but  the  exhilaration  of 
rushing  wind,  of  back-whirling  hedgerows  and  trees,  on  and 
on  until  before  us  was  a  hill  up  which  a  chaise  was  crawling. 
Now  as  I  watched  this  vehicle  carelessly  enough,  out 


328  Peregrine's  Progress 

from  the  window  came  a  hatless  head  —  an  arm  that  waved 
imperiously,  and  the  postboy,  glancing  back,  began  to 
flog  his  animals  to  swifter  gait.  But  Wildfire,  snorting 
scorn  on  all  hills  and  this  in  particular,  never  so  much  as 
checked  or  faltered  in  his  long  stride  and  thus  we  ap- 
proached the  lumbering  chaise  rapidly. 

We  were  close  upon  it  when  once  again  the  head  pro- 
jected itself  from  the  window,  but  now  the  face  was  turned 
towards  me,  and  in  these  features  I  seemed  to  read  a  very 
lively  apprehension,  nay,  as  I  drew  nearer,  I  saw  above  the 
bushy,  scowling  brows  the  gleam  of  sweat ;  but  on  I  came 
with  loosened  rein,  heedless  of  the  gentleman's  threaten- 
ing look  and  wondering  at  his  very  evident  perturbation ; 
and  now  I  saw  that  he  grasped  something  half-hidden  in 
the  fold  of  his  coat  that  bulked  remarkably  like  a  pistol. 
But  all  at  once,  as  he  peered  at  me  through  the  rolling 
smother  of  dust,  his  apprehensive  expression  vanished 
and,  next  moment,  his  head  also,  and  as  I  drew  level  with 
the  chaise,  I  saw  him  leaning  back  in  one  corner,  the  pistol 
upon  his  knees,  and  in  the  other  corner  the  form  of  a 
woman  wrapped  in  a  pelisse  and  heavily  veiled  and  who, 
judging  by  her  posture,  seemed  asleep. 

It  was  but  a  glimpse  I  caught  of  the  interior  and  then 
I  was  by,  had  reached  the  summit  of  the  hill  and  was 
galloping  down  the  descent,  but  even  so  it  seemed  to  me 
that  the  gentleman's  face  was  vaguely  familiar. 

Mile  upon  mile  I  held  on  at  this  wild  speed  until  An- 
thony and  his  sorrel  had  diminished  to  a  faint,  oncoming 
dust-cloud  and  Wildfire  began  to  abate  his  ardour  some- 
what ;  as  he  breasted  a  long  and  steep  ascent  crowned  by 
a  hostelry,  I,  blinking  at  it  through  dust-whitened  lashes, 
saw  it  bore  a  sign  with  the  words :  The  Porto  Bello  Inn. 
Here  I  dismounted  from  my  chastened  steed,  who,  if  a 
little  blown,  was  no  whit  distressed,  and  forthwith  led  him 
to  the  stables  myself,  to  see  him  rubbed  down  and  cared 
for,  the  while  a  hissing  ostler  knocked,  shook  and  brushed 
from  my  garments  clouds  of  Kentish  dust.  In  the  midst 
of  which  performance  up  rode  Anthony. 


Concerning  a  Black  Postchaise     329 

"  Well  —  damme ! "  he  exclaimed,  as  he  swung  to  earth, 
"  I  said  a  milestone  —  " 

'  True,  Anthony,  but  I  felt  inclined  for  a  gallop  —  " 
"I  believe  you!"  he  laughed.  "And  now  I'm  more 
than  inclined  for  a  pot,  a  tankard,  a  flagon,  Perry  —  or 
say  a  dozen.  Damme,  I  've  been  breathing  nothing  but 
circumambient  Kent  for  the  last  half-hour  —  Ale,  Perry, 
ale's  the  word!  This  way!  And  by  that  same  token, 
here  's  your  money.  'T  is  a  glorious  beast,  your  Wildfire, 
and  curst  well  ridden,  begad !  " 

*  O 

"  And  I  ride  stones  lighter  than  you  do,  Goliath ! "  said 
I,  following  him  into  the  sanded  parlour. 

"I  never  drink  a  tankard  of  ale,"  gasped  Anthony, 
setting  down  his  vessel  with  a  bang,  "no,  never,  Perry, 
without  remembering  the  first  drink  we  had  together — 
the  ale  you  paid  for !  And  the  ham  and  eggs  —  oh,  curse 
and  confound  it,  I  shall  never  taste  anything  so  delicious 
again,  of  course.  Everything  is  vastly  changed  since 
then,  Peregrine  —  everything  except  yourself." 
"  I  am  two  inches  taller !  "  said  I. 

"  Ah,  to  be  sure !  And,  thanks  to  Jessamy  Todd,  a  man 
of  your  hands.  What 's  become  of  Jessamy  these  days  — 
and  your  friend  the  Tinker?  " 

"  I  shame  to  say  I  don't  know.  I  used  to  see  them  fre- 
quently up  to  a  year  ago,  but  since  then,  London  and  its 
follies  have  engulfed  me." 

"  We  '11  devote  ourselves  to  looking  'em  up  one  o'  these 
days  ! "  said  Anthony.  "  Meantime  I  'm  devilish  hungry 
and  I  always  dine  at c  The  Bull '  at  Wrotham,  so  if  you  're 
quite  ready,  let 's  push  on.  By  the  way,"  he  continued,  as 
I  followed  him  into  the  yard, '"  did  you  notice  that  chaise 
we  passed  just  beyond  Farningham  —  a  black-bodied 
chaise,  picked  out  in  yellow,  with  red  wheels  ?  " 
"I  did,  Anthony— why?" 

"Fool  of  a  fellow  seemed1  infernally  agitate'd,  actually 
had  a  pistol  ready  for  me,  or  so  it  seemed." 

"  I  noticed  his  desperate  attitude  also,  —  and  thought 
it  very  singular." 


330  Peregrine's  Progress 

"  Demmit,  yes,  and  what 's  more  singular,  I  recognised 
the  fool  fellow  for  the  fellow  I  thrashed  two  years  ago  at 
the  4  Jolly  Waggoner  '  —  Danby  his  name  is." 

"  Ah,  to  be  sure ! "  I  exclaimed.  "  I  knew  his  face  was 
familiar.  Did  you  see  he  had  a  lady  with  him?  " 

"  No,  what  was  she  like?  " 

"  I  only  caught  the  briefest  glimpse  —  besides,  she  was 
heavily  veiled  and  seemed  to  be  asleep  —  " 

"  Asleep !  "  exclaimed  Anthony  fiercely.  "  Asleep !  By 
God,  Perry,  I  'm  half-minded  to  wait  until  that  damned 
chaise  comes  up  and  see  for  myself." 

"I  beg  you  will  do  no  such,  thing!"  said  I,  abhorring 
the  idea  of  violence  and  possible  bloodshed.  "  If  you  are 
hungry — so  am  I.  Let  us  get  on  to  Wrotham  and 
dinner."  So  we  mounted  and  in  due  time  descended  the 
steep  hill  into  the  pleasant  village  of  Wrotham. 

The  "  Bull "  welcomed  us,  or  more  particularly  An- 
thony, with  cheeriness  tempered  with  respect;  such  a 
bustling  of  ostlers,  running  to  and  fro  of  serving  men ;  such 
a  dimpling  and  curtseying  of  buxom,  neat-capped  maids ; 
such  beaming  obeisances  from  mine  host,  all  to  welcome 
"  Mr.  Anthony  " :  indeed  such  a  reception  as  might  have 
warmed  the  heart  of  any  man  save  your  embittered,  cold- 
hearted  cynic  or  one  who  rode  with  demons  on  his 
shoulders. 

Though  the  fare  was  excellent  my  appetite  was  poor 
and  I  ate  and  drank  but  little,  to  Anthony's  evident  con- 
cern ;  and  when  at  last  we  took  the  road  again,  I  rode  with 
a  jibbering  devil  on  either  shoulder,  filling  me  again  with 
nameless  fears  and  vague,  unreasoning  doubts  of  I  knew 
not  what.  Above  and  around  me  seemed  an  ever-growing 
shadow,  a  foreboding  expectancy  of  an  oncoming  evil  I 
could  neither  define  nor  shake  off,  try  how  I  would. 

Anthony  seemed  to  sense  something  of  this  and  (like  the 
good  fellow  he  was)  strove  valiantly  to  banish  my  uncanny 
gloom,  though  my  attention  often  wandered  and  I  an- 
swered at  random  or  not  at  all. 

"  Clothes  go  a  damned  long  way  with  a  woman,  Perry !  " 


Concerning  a  Black  Postchaise     331 

he  was  saying.  "  I  'm  married  and  I  know !  That  evening 
suit  o'  yours  with  the  lavender-flowered  waistcoat  is  bound 
to  rivet  her  eye  —  nail  her  regard,  d'  ye  see !  Then  there 's 
your  new  riding  suit,  I  mean  the  bottle-green  frock  with 
the  gold-crested  buttons.  She  must  see  you  in  that  and 
there  's  few  look  better  astride  a  horse  than  yourself  — " 
here  I  became  lost  again  in  the  vile  gibbering  of  my  demons 
until  these  words  of  Anthony's  brought  me  back  again : 

"  —  dev'lish  solitary  place  with  an  unsavoury  reputa- 
tion. The  country  folk  say  it 's  haunted." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Tony,  but  what  were  you  telling 
me?" 

"  My  poor  ass,"  said  Anthony,  edging  nearer  the  better 
to  peer  into  my  face,  "I  have  been  endeavouring  to  give 
you  a  brief  description  of  Raydon  Manor  —  the  house 
peeping  amid  the  trees  yonder." 

We  were  climbing  a  hill  and  from  this  eminence  could 
behold  a  fair  sweep  of  landscape,  a  rolling,  richly  wooded 
countryside  very  pleasant  to  behold,  and,  following  the 
direction  pointed  by  Anthony's  whip,  I  descried  the 
gables  of  a  great,  grey  house  bowered  in  dense-growing 
trees  that  seemed  to  shut  the  building  in  on  every  side,  the 
whole  further  enclosed  by  a  lofty  wall. 

"  Ah,  a  haunted  house,  Anthony,"  said  I,  glancing  at 
the  place  with  perfunctory  interest. 

"  So  the  yokels  say  hereabouts,  Perry,  but  if  half  what 
I  hear  is  true,  it  is  haunted  by  things  far  worse  — more 
evil  than  ghosts." 

"  Meaning  what?  "  I  questioned. 

"  Well,  it  is  owned  by  a  person  of  the  name  of  Trench- 
ard  who  seems  to  be  a  rich  mixture  of  gentlemanly  ruf- 
fian, Turkish  bashaw  and  the  devil.  Anyhow,  the  place 
has  a  demned  unsavoury  reputation  and  abuts  on  my 
land." 

"  Indeed !  "  said  I,  stifling  a  yawn.  "  And  what  manner 
of  neighbour  is  he  —  to  look  at  ?  " 

"Don't  know — never  clapped  eyes  on  the  fellow  — 
nobody  ever  sees  him.  Fellow  rarely  stirs  abroad  and 


332  Peregrine's  Progress 

when  he  does,  always  in  closed  carriage  —  muffled  to  the 
eyes  —  queer  fish  and  demned  unpleasant,  by  ,all  ac- 
counts." 

"Evidently!"  said  I,  then  uttered  an  exclamation  as 
Wildfire  tripped  and  off  spun  his  near  foreshoe. 

"  Curse  and  confound  it !  "  exclaimed  Anthony  ruefully. 
"  And  no  smith  nearer  than  five  miles ! " 

"  That  being  so,"  quoth  I,  dismounting,  "  confound  and 
curse  it  with  all  my  heart." 

"  There  's  the  *  Soaring  Lark '  not  half  a  mile  away  — 
a  small  inn,  kept  by  a  friend  of  mine." 

"  And  a  ridiculous  name  for  any  inn !  "  said  I. 

"  Wait  till  you  see  it,  Perry." 

So  saying,  Anthony  turned  aside  down  an  unexpected 
and  rutted  by-lane,  I  leading  my  horse;  and,  rounding  a 
sharp  bend  in  this  narrow  track,  we  came  upon  a  small  inn. 
It  stood  well  back  amid  the  green  and  was  further  shaded 
by  three  great  trees;  and  surely  the  prettiest,  brightest, 
cosiest  little  inn  that  the  eye  of  wearied  traveller  might 
behold.  Its  twinkling  lattices  open  to  the  sunny  air 
showed  a  vision  of  homely  comfort  within;  its  hospitable 
door  gaped  wide  upon  an  inviting  chamber  floored  with 
red  tile,  and  before  it  stood  a  tall,  youngish  man  in  shirt- 
sleeves with  the  brightest  eyes,  the  cheeriest  smile  and  the 
blackest  whiskers  I  had  ever  seen. 

"  O  Mary,  lass  !  "  he  cried,  "  Mr.  Anthony !  "  And  then, 
as  he  hurried  forward  to  take  our  horses :  "  Why,  Lord, 
Mr.  Anthony,  sir,  we  du  be  tur'ble  glad  to  see  *ee  —  eh, 
old  lady  ?  "  This  last  to  her  who  had  hurried  to  his  call  — 
a  youngish  woman,  as  bright,  as  cosy,  as  cheery,  but  far 
prettier  than  the  inn  itself. 

"  Oh,  but  indeed  we  be  j'yful  to  see  'ee,  Mr.  Anthony; 
us  was  talkin'  o'  you  an*  your  bonny  lady  this  very  day. 
She  do  be  well,  sir,  I  'ope,  an'  comin*  home  to  the  great 
house  soon,  Mr.  Anthony?" 

"  Thank  you,  yes,  Mary,"  answered  Anthony,  baring 
his  head  and  giving  her  his  hand,  "  we  shall  be  coming 
home  next  week.  And  here,  George  and  Mary,  is  my 


Concerning  a  Black  Postchaise     333 

friend  Mr.  Vereker.  His  horse  has  cast  a  shoe,  send  it  to 
Joe  at  Hadlow  to  be  shod.  Meanwlu'le  we  will  drink  a 
flagon  of  your  October.'* 

So  while  George  led  away  my  horse,  his  pretty  wife 
brought  us  into  the  sanded  parlour,  where,  having  des- 
patched a  shock-headed  boy  with  my  horse,  George  pres- 
ently joined  us. 

The  ale  duly  drunk,  Anthony  proposed  he  should  ride 
on  to  Nettlestead  while  Wildfire  was  being  shod  and  re- 
turn for  me  in  an  hour  or  so,  to  which  I  perforce  agreeing, 
he  rode  away,  leaving  me  to  await  him,  nothing  loath. 
For  what  with  the  spirit  of  Happiness  that  seemed  to 
pervade  this  little  inn  of  the  "  Soaring  Lark "  and  the 
cheery  good  humour  of  its  buxom  host  and  hostess,  my 
haunting  demons  fled  awhile  and  in  their  place  was  re- 
stored peace.  Sitting  with  George  in  this  low-raftered 
kitchen  while  his  pretty  wife  bustled  comfortably  to  and 
fro,  we  talked  and  grew  acquainted. 

"By  the  way,  George,"  said  I,  "Mr.  Vere-Manville 
showed  me  a  haunted  house  called,  I  think,  Ray  don  Manor, 
do  you  know  anything  of  it?" 

Now  at  this  innocent  question,  to  my  surprise  George's 
good  humour  vanished,  has  comely  features  were  suddenly 
overcast,  and  he  exchanged  meaning  glances  with  his  wife. 

"  Why,  sir,"  he  answered  at  last,  speaking  in  a  lowered 
voice  as  if  fearful  of  being  overheard,  "  there  's  some  as  do 
say  't  is  haunted  sure-ly." 

"How?  "I  demanded. 

"Well  —  things  'as  been  seed,  ah,  an*  heerd  in  that 
theer  ghastly  wood." 

"What  things?" 

"  Well  —  things  as  flits  an'  things  as  wails  —  ah,  fit  to 
break  your  'eart  an'  chill  a  man's  good  flesh.  Ghost-lights 
has  been  seed  at  dead  o'  night,  an'  folks  has  'eer'd  music 
at  dead  o'  night  an'  screams  o'  devil-laughter,  ah,  an' 
screams  as  was  n't  laughter.  Old  Gaffer  Dick  'e  du  ha' 
seed  things  an'  there's  me,  I've  'eer'd  an'  seed  things  — 
an'  lots  o'  folk  beside." 


334          >  Peregrine's  Progress 

"  What  did  you  see,  George  ?  " 

"  I  dunno  rightly,  sir,  an'  never  shall  this  side  o'  glory, 
but  't  were  a  shape,  a  thing  —  I  might  call  it  a  ghost  an* 
I  might  call  it  a  phanitum ;  hows'ever  't  were  a  shape,  sir, 
^as  I  seed  a-floatin*  an'  a-wailin' — Lord,  I  '11  never  forget 
'•'ow  it  wailed !  " 

Here  he  mopped  his  brow  at  the  mere  recollection. 

"  But  do  you  never  see  any  one  about  by  day  ?  " 

"  Aye,  sir,  there  be  a  great,  sooty  black  man  for  one,  a 
hugeous  niggermoor  with  devil's  eyes  as  roll  an'  teeth  like 
a  dog  —  there  's  'im !  An'  there 's  three  or  four  desp'rit- 
seemin'  coves  as  looks  like  prize  fighters  —  though  they 
ain't  often  seed  abroad  an*  then  mostly  drivin'  be'ind  fast 
'orses,  sir  —  coach,  sir." 

"  And  what  of  the  owner  of  the  place,  Mr.  Trenchard, 
I  think  his  name  is  ?  " 

"  Very  seldom  stirs  abroad,  sir,  an*  then  allus  in  a 
f  ast-travellin'  closed  carriage ;  though  there 's  a-plenty 
o'  company  now  an'  then,  'ard-ridin'  gentlemen  —  spe- 
cially one  as  usually  travels  down  from  Lunnon  in  a  chaise 
wi'  red  wheels  —  " 

"  What  —  a  black-bodied  chaise  picked  out  in  yellow  ?  " 
I  enquired  sharply. 

"  Aye,  sir,  the  same." 

"  And  are  there  lady  visitors  as  well  as  gentlemen  ?  " 

"  Aye,  there  are  so,  sir — coveys  of  'em,  very  fine 
feathers  an*  pretty  as  pictoors  t'  look  at  but  —  " 

"Ah!"  said  I,  as  he  paused,  "that  kind?" 

"  Aye,  sir,  if  ye  know  what  I  mean." 

"I  do !    Raydon  Manor  seems  haunted  in  many  ways." 

"  Aye,  sir,  an'  this  is  very  sure  —  if  Innocence  ever  goes 
in,  it  never  comes  out !  " 

Thus  we  talked,  George  the  landlord  and  I,  while  his 
pretty,  buxom  wife  bustled  quietly  to  and  fro  or  vanished 
into  the  mysteries  of  her  dairy,  whence  came  the  creak  of 
churn,  the  chink  of  pot  or  pan  and  suchlike  homely  sounds 
where  her  two  trim  maids  laughed  and  chattered  over  their 
labours. 


Concerning  a  Black  Postchaise     335 

It  was  a  glorious  afternoon  and,  at  my  suggestion, 
George  brought  me  into  a  garden  behind  the  inn  where 
flowers  rioted,  filling  the  air  with  their  mingled  perfumes, 
and  so  to  a  well-stocked  orchard  beyond,  whence  came  the 
warm  odour  of  ripening  fruit. 

"  You  have  a  very  beautiful  home,  George." 

"  An*  all  thanks  to  my  little  old  woman,  sir.  I  were 
a  soldier  once  an'  a  tur'ble  drinker,  but  Mary  —  Lord, 
sir,  't  is  wonnerful  how  good  a  good  woman  can  be  an' 
how  bad  a  bad  'un  can  be  —  though  she 's  generally  made 
bad,  I  've  noticed !  Damme,  sir,  axin'  your  parding  but 
damme  notwithstanding,  there 's  some  men  as  I  'd  like  to 
'ave  wrigglin'  on  the  end  of  a  bagnet !  "  And  he  turned  to 
scowl  fiercely  towards  a  stretch  of  dark  woodland  that 
gloomed  beyond  a  rolling  stretch  of  sunny  meadow  land. 

"The  sentiment  is  a  little  bloody,  George,"  said  I, 
glancing  at  this  stretch  of  dark  wood,  "  but  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, I  think  it  does  you  credit.  And  now,  seeing 
I  have  a  full  hour  to  wait  for  Mr.  Vere-Manville,  I  will 
take  a  little  stroll  and  waste  no  more  of  your  time ; " 
and  smiling  down  his  protestations  to  the  contrary,  I 
sauntered  off  through  the  golden  afternoon. 

To-morrow  the  term  of  my  patient  waiting  was  to  be 
accomplished;  Diana  was  coming  back  to  me!  At  this 
thought  there  rushed  over  me  such  an  eager,  passionate 
joy  that  my  breath  caught  and  I  paused  to  lean  across  a 
gate,  endeavouring  to  picture  her  to  myself  as  she  now 
was, '  a  changed  Diana  and  yet  the  same ',  even  as  she  had 
written.  And  as  I  stood  thus,  down  to  me  through  the 
sunny  air  came  the  song  of  a  mounting  lark  who,  as  if 
knowing  my  thought,  seemed  striving  to  sing  forth  some- 
thing of  the  ineffable  happiness  that  thrilled  me.  The 
song  ended,  I  went  on  again,  walking  slowly,  my  head 
bowed,  lost  in  a  happy  dream.  And  presently  I  found  myself 
walking  amid  trees,  through  an  ever-deepening  shadow, 
and,  looking  up,  saw  I  had  entered  the  pine  wood.  For  a 
moment  I  hesitated,  minded  to  turn  back  into  the  sunshine, 
then  I  went  on,  picking  my  way  among  these  gloomy  trees, 


336  Peregrine's  Progress 

the  pine  needles  soft  beneath  my  tread ;  thus,  since  there 
was  no  wind,  I  walked  in  silence  broken  only  by  the  faint 
jingle  of  my  spurs  and  the  rustle  of  my  advance,  a  silence 
that  affected  me  with  a  vague  unease.  There  seemed  some- 
thing stealthy  in  this  uncanny  stillness  so  that  I  grew 
stealthy  also  and  set  myself  to  keep  my  spurs  from 
jingling,  for  unseen  eyes  seemed  to  be  watching  me.  The 
deeper  I  penetrated  this  dismal  wood,  the  darker  it  grew, 
and  I  advanced,  cautious  and  silent,  and  with  a  vague 
sense  of  expectancy  though  of  what  I  could  not  determine. 
With  the  glad  sunshine  my  joyousness  had  vanished,  in 
its  stead  came  again  doubt  and  foreboding  with  my  devils 
that  gibbered  upon  my  heels;  demons  and  evil  things 
seemed  all  about  me. 

But  suddenly  I  came  out  upon  a  narrow  track  or  rather 
footpath  and  though  the  kindly  sun  contrived  to  send 
down  a  fugitive  shaft  ever  and  anon,  yet  my  depression 
was  in  no  wise  abated  and  I  began  to  hurry  my  steps, 
anxious  to  be  out  of  these  dismal  shadows.  All  at  once  I 
halted,  for  before  me  was  a  lofty  wall  and  I  saw  that  the 
path  led  to  a  low-arched  doorway  or  postern,  a  small  door 
but  of  great  apparent  strength,  that  seemed  to  scowl  upon 
me  between  its  deep  buttresses.  And  now  as  I  gazed, 
there  grew  within  me  an  indefinable  feeling,  a  growing 
certainty  of  something  very  threatening  and  sinister 
about  this  door,  and  turning,  I  hasted  back  along  the 
path,  turning  neither  to  right  nor  left,  hurrying  as  from 
something  beyond  expression  evil.  Nor  did  I  stop  or 
glance  back  until  I  was  out  in  the  pure  sunshine  and 
the  cosy  inn  of  the  "  Soaring  Lark "  seemed  to  smile  at 
me  beyond  broad  meadows,  blinking  its  bright  casements 
like  so  many  bright  eyes  in  cheery  welcome.  But  even  so, 
I  shivered,  for  the  gloomy  shadow  of  the  wood  seemed  all 
about  me  still  and  therewith  a  growing  depression  that 
would  not  be  banished  but  held  me  in  thrall  despite  sun- 
shine and  cheery  inn.  What  was  it  that  I  feared  ?  I 
asked  myself,  and  why  —  why  —  why  ? 

I   found  Anthony   awaiting  me,  but  even  his   cheery 


Concerning  a  Black  Postchaise     337 

presence  failed  to  dispel  my  gloom.  And  so  in  a  while, 
my  horse  being  ready,  we  set  out  for  London  with  hearty 
"  God-speeds  "  from  George  and  his  wife  Mary.  But  all 
the  way  back,  my  mind  still  laboured  with  these  same 
perplexing  questions : 

What  was  it  that  I  feared?     And  why  —  why  —  why? 

And  thereto  I  found  no  answer. 


CHAPTER  IV 

OP   A   SCARABAEUS    KING  AND   A   GOSSAMER   VEIL 

"YE  'RE  a  little  pale  —  yes,  a  trifle  haggard,  Perry,  but 
there 's  nothing  like  a  romantic  pallor  to  attract  the 
feminine  regard  and  captivate  the  female  heart,  my  boy 
—  I  'm  married  and  I  know !  But  your  dress  is  a  thought 
too  sombre,  I  think,  considering  your  youth,  though 
I  '11  admit  it  suits  you  and  there  's  a  devilish  tragic  melan- 
choly Danish-air  about  ye  as  should  nail  the  female 
orb  —  " 

"  Don't  be  an  ass,  Anthony.     How  is  my  cravat  ?  " 

"  Work  of  art,  begad!  How  are  my  pantaloons,  Perry? 
My  tailor's  made  'em  too  loose,  the  damned  scoundrel. 
I  'm  wrinkled  like  a  rhinoceros,  by  heaven !  Keep  your 
eye  on  'em  when  I  bend  — " 

"  My  dear  Anthony,"  said  I,  "  if  they  were  any  tighter 
you  could  n't  bend  —  " 

"Well,  my  coat,  Perry  —  how  is  it  behind?" 

"  Admirable ! " 

"  Feels  like  a  sack,  demmit !  My  Loveliness  has  the  eye 
of  a  hawk,  you  '11  understand  —  has  n't  seen  me  for  a 
whole  month  —  nothing  like  first  impressions,  begad. 
Feels  like  an  accursed  sack,  I  tell  you  — 

"  Gentlemen,  the  carriage  awaits ! "  murmured  Clegg 
from  the  doorway. 

"What  —  already?"  cried  Anthony,  clapping  on  his 
hat  and  reaching  for  his  surtout. 

"  You  forget  we  're  Lord  Wyvelstoke's  privileged 
guests.  —  Come,  Anthony ! "  and  I  led  the  way  down  to 
the  carriage. 

"Ain't  you  nervous,  Perry?"  enquired  my  friend,  as 
we  rolled  smoothly  away. 

"  No." 

"  Queer  fish  —  I  am !  "  said  he,  fidgeting  with  his  cravat. 


Of  a  Ring  and  a  Veil          339 

"  You  're  deuced  cool,  devilish  serene  and  enigmatical  at 
times,  like  your  uncle  Jervas." 

"  You  natter  me,  Tony." 

"  Devil  a  bit  —  and  this  coat  of  mine  feels  like  a  — 
what  the  devil  are  we  stopping  for?" 

We  had  reached  the  top  of  St.  James's  Street  and  glanc- 
ing through  the  window,  I  saw  our  progress  blocked  mo- 
mentarily by  converging  traffic ;  I  was  about  to  lean  back  in 
my  seat  again  when  my  careless  glance  was  arrested  by 
an  elegant  closed  chaise  going  in  the  opposite  direction; 
the  light  was  still  good,  and  thus  I  saw  this  for  a  black- 
bodied  chaise  picked  out  in  yellow  with  red  wheels.  The 
window  was  down  and  thence  fluttered  a  lady's  scarf  or 
veil,  a  delicate  gossamer  thing  spangled  with  gold  stars ; 
as  I  watched,  from  the  dim  interior  of  the  chaise  came  a 
woman's  white  hand  to  gather  up  this  glittering  scarf,  a 
shapely  hand  sparkling  with  gems,  amongst  which  I  saw 
one  shaped  like  a  scarabasus;  then  the  chaise  rolled  away 
and  was  gone. 

"What  the  dooce  are  you  staring  at,  Perry?" 

"  Nothing ! "  I  answered,  frowning.     "  Nothing !  " 

His  lordship's  house  was  ablaze  with  lights  and,  though 
we  were  so  early,  in  the  street  immediately  before  it  was 
a  crowd  that  pushed  and  jostled  as  we  mounted  the 
carpeted  steps  and  were  ushered  into  the  lofty  hall.  Here, 
the  footmen  having  relieved  us  of  our  hats  and  coats,  we 
found  the  sedate  Atkinson  as  gravely  imperturbable  as 
I  remembered  him  two  years  ago,  who  acknowledged  my 
greeting  with  sedate  smile  and  grave  obeisance  and 
brought  us  forthwith  to  a  chamber  where  I  found  Lord 
Wyvelstoke  in  confabulation  with  my  two  uncles. 

At  our  entrance  they  rose,  and  his  lordship  limped 
forward  to  welcome  us ;  and  looking  upon  his  slender,  ele- 
gant figure,  beholding  his  impassive  face  with  its  air  of 
serene  and  conscious  power,  I  warmed  to  the  kindness 
of  his  smile,  even  as  I  had  done  two  years  ago. 

Our  greetings  over,  his  lordship  slipped  his  arm  id 
mine  and  led  me  apart. 


340  Peregrine's  Progress 

"  Well,  Peregrine,"  said  he,  with  his  old,  keen  look,  "  I 
perceive  your  two  years  of  self-sacrifice  have  not  been 
in  vain;  you  are  grown  in  every  sense.  And  to-night  un- 
selfishness shall  have  its  full  reward.  To-night,  Peregrine, 
I  render  back  to  you  your  Diana,  but  a  Diana  glorified 
—  a  woman,  and  one  who  has  endeared  herself  to  me  by 
her  great-hearted  and  noble  qualities.  In  her  is  nothing 
paltry,  education  has  not  stunted  or  narrowed  the  soul 
of  her.  She  has  been  faithful  to  her  task  for  your  sake 
and  faithful  to  you  for  Love's  sake.  By  your  unselfishness 
she  has  indeed  become  all  that  we  hoped  —  and  more,  one 
to  be  proud  of.  But  I  grow  garrulous  in  her  praise  — 
go  to  her  and  see  for  yourself.  She  is  awaiting  you  in 
her  boudoir  with  Mrs.  Vere-Manvillc." 

So  saying,  his  lordship  rang  and  the  silent  Atkinson 
appeared,  who  led  us  up  a  wide  stairway  and  so  to  a 
dainty  chamber  where,  bowing,  he  left  us. 

A  faint  perfume  was  in  the  air,  elusive  but  sweetly  in- 
timate. Upon  an  ottoman  lay  a  fan  and  a  pair  of  lace 
mittens. 

"  Begad,"  murmured  Anthony,  sniffing,  "  there 's  noth- 
ing like  perfume  to  give  a  fellow  palpitations,  and  palpi- 
tations always  make  my  cravat  too  tight  —  devilish 
thing's  choking  me!  A  good  woman,  Perry,  can  be  the 
most  doocedly  alluring,  devilish  engaging,  utterly  pro- 
voking creature  in  creation —  far  more  so  than  —  t'  other 
sort.  I  'm  married  and  I  know !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  looking  down  at  the  discarded  fan  and 
deeply  stirred  by  the  elusive  fragrance. 

"  Devil  take  this  cravat !  "  exclaimed  Anthony,  wrestling 
with  it  before  a  mirror.  "  If  they  don't  come  soon,  't  will 
be  wreck,  demmit !  I  wish  to  heaven  they  M  come." 

"So  do  I,  Anthony!" 

"Finishing  touches,  I  expect,  Perry  —  they  will  do  it! 
And  mean  to  surprise  us,  of  course."  But  as  moment 
after  moment  elapsed,  his  impatience  grew.  "I  wonder 
what 's  keeping  'em !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"I  wonder!"  said  I. 


Of  a  Ring  and  a  Veil          341 

At  the  end  of  ten  minutes  he  was  striding  up  and  down 
the  room  in  a  very  ferment. 

"  Damned  strange ! "  he  muttered.  "  Devilish  incom- 
prehensible 1  They  must  know  we're  here.  Been  waiting 
fifteen  minutes  now,  begad!  Getting  beyond  a  joke — 
deuced  exasperating,  Perry,  y'  know.  Dammit,  man,  why 
can't  you  say  something,  do  something,  instead  of  sitting 
there  so  devilish  calm  and  serene,  staring  before  you  like 
an  infernal  sphinx  ?  " 

At  the  end  of  twenty  minutes  Anthony  could  wait  no 
more  and  bidding  me  follow,  jerked  open  the  door  and 
strode  out.  But  I  sat  there  staring  before  me  at  an  empty 
fireplace  and  still  all  my  thought  was  of  the  chaise  with 
the  red  wheels. 

But  presently  my  gaze  came  by  chance  upon  something 
that  lay  in  a  corner  of  the  hearth,  a  piece  of  paper 
crumpled  and  rent  as  in  passionate  haste.  For  a  while  I 
viewed  it  idly,  heedlessly,  then  all  at  once  I  saw  a  name, 
a  scrawling  signature  plain  to  read;  next  moment  the 
fragment  of  paper  was  in  my  grasp  and  I  read  this : 

.  .  .  confess  to  find  you  more  bewitchingly  beautiful  than 
ever.     And  therefore,  having  regard  to  what  transpired  be- 
tween us  in  Italy,  you  will  come  this  evening  without  fail  to 
Your  ever  adoring  slave  and  master, 

HAREDALE. 

How  long  I  remained  staring  at  this  fragment  of  paper 
I  do  not  know,  but  I  started  suddenly  to  see  Atkinson 
bowing  in  the  doorway  and  followed  him  from  the  room 
and  downstairs  and  suddenly  found  myself  in  a  polite 
tumult ;  silks  rustled,  feathers  nodded,  turbans  bowed  and 
jewels  glittered. 

But  almost  at  once,  amid  all  this  throng,  my  eyes  saw 
but  one.  Tall  she  was,  with  jewels  that  sparkled  in  her  dark 
and  lustrous  hair;  how  she  was  gowned  I  cannot  remem- 
ber, but  her  white  throat  was  unadorned  save  for  a  small 
gold  chain  whence  hung  a  plain  gold  locket,  at  sight  of 
which  my  heart  seemed  to  swell  withm  me. 


34 2  Peregrine's  Progress 

Flushed  and  bright-eyed,  she  stood  beside  Lord  Wyvel- 
stoke  to  receive  the  many  guests.  And  viewing  her  as  I 
stood  thus,  myself  unseen  amid  the  crowd,  beholding  her 
serene  and  noble  carriage,  her  vivid  colouring,  the  classic 
mould  of  form  and  features,  the  grace  and  ease  of  her 
every  movement,  I  saw  she  was  indeed  more  beautiful  than 
I  dreamed  and  caught  my  breath  in  a  very  ecstasy.  Here 
was  Diana  herself,  yet  a  Diana  glorified  even  as  Lord 
Wyvelstoke  had  said,  and  with  a  thousand  elusive  graces 
beyond  my  poor  description. 

And  now  I  was  bowing  before  her,  heard  her  tremulous 
murmur  of  "  Peregrine ! "  and  answered  back  as  tremu- 
lously, "  Diana ! "  and  so,  yielding  place  to  others,  I 
passed  on,  to  bow  and  smile  and  chatter  inanities  with 
such  of  the  guests  as  were  of  my  acquaintance,  but  yearn- 
ing for  chance  of  speech  with  her  alone. 

Then,  somehow,  she  was  beside  me,  her  hand  upon  my 
arm,  and  we  were  walking,  though  whither  I  cared  not, 
my  every  sense  thrilled  by  her  gracious  ease,  her  stately 
beauty  and  all  the  wonder  of  her. 

I  remember  we  sat  and  talked  of  the  past  two  years,  of 
much  that  she  had  seen  and  done;  and  she  questioned  me 
a  little  breathlessly  and  always  of  myself,  and  I,  conscious 
of  the  many  bewildering  changes  in  her  and  of  those  deep, 
grey  eyes  looking  at  me  beneath  their  level  brows,  or  hid- 
den by  their  down-sweeping  black  lashes,  answered  briefly 
or  very  much  at  random,  so  that  she  questioned  me  at 
last: 

"Peregrine,  are  you  listening?" 

"  Yes  —  no !  "  I  answered.  "  How  can  I  ?  You  are  so 
—  wonderful !  ** 

At  this  the  rich  colour  deepened  in  her  cheek  and  her 
eyes  grew  ineffably  tender. 

"  And  you,"  she  murmured,  "  you  are  still  my  Pere- 
grine of  the  Silent  Places,  the  gentleman  who  stooped  to 
teach  me  that  love  could  be  —  a  holy  thing  —  " 

From  the  distance  stole  the  sound  of  music  and  sud- 
denly, as  if  conjured  up  of  these  sweet  strains,  were  eager 


Of  a  Ring  and  a  Veil         343 

gentlemen  all  about  us,  vying  with  each  other  for  the 
honour  of  escorting  her  down  to  the  ballroom. 

"  Miss  Lovel,"  simpered  a  gallant  young  exquisite,  his 
fashionably  pallid  features  peeping  out  between  the  silk- 
iest of  glossy  whiskers,  "  we  are  to  be  f  avahed,  I  think^ 
to  be  charmed  and  delighted  by  your  incomparable  sing- 
ing—  aw,  how  do,  Vereker!  Miss  Lovel,  you  behold  me 
a  humble  ambassador,  to  beg,  to  entreat  you  to  keep  us 
waiting  no  longer  —  " 

"  The  evening  is  young,  my  lord,"  she  answered  lightly, 
"though  your  impatience  is  flattering,  I  vow  — " 

"Impatience,  Miss  Lovel?"  sighed  a  gorgeous  being 
in  scarlet  and  epaulettes.  "  Impatience  —  haw  —  is  quite 
inadequate  to  express  our  —  hum  —  I  should  say,  my  own. 
sentiments ;  *  impatience  '  is  a  word  too  —  ha  —  altogether 
too  feeble !  For  my  own  part  I  should  —  haw  —  I  should 
rather  say  we  —  " 

"  Passion,  ma'm,  passion ! "  exclaimed  a  square- faced 
gentleman  in  naval  blue.  "  Speaking  as  a  blunt  sailor, 
passion 's  the  word,  Miss  Lovel  —  passion.  Passion 's  the 
only  word,  I  think,  gentlemen?  " 

"Indubitably!" 

"  Positively ! " 

"Per-fectly!" 

Hereupon  the  Army  retired  a  little  discomfited  but 
rallied  sufficiently  to  suggest  the  word  "  languish." 

"  Behold  us  then,  Miss  Lovel,  passioning  —  "  said  the 
Navy. 

"  And  —  haw  —  languishing,  Miss  Lovel  —  "  sighed  the 
Army. 

"Behold  us  then  unanimously  beseeching  you  —  aha, 
here  comes  Pevensey  to  add  his  supplication  to  ours." 

The  Duke  shot  his  ruffle,  fixed  his  eyeglass  and  bowed. 

"  Permit  me,  Miss  Lovel,  to  add  my  petition !  Vereker 
will  spare  you  to  us  awhile,  I  am  sure ! "  said  he.  "  To 
behold  a  goddess  is  to  be  blessed;  to  hear  her  sing  will 
be  —  " 

"  Joy ! "  suggested  the  Navy. 


344  Peregrine's  Progress 

"  Divine ! "  sighed  the  Army. 

"  Transcendent  rapture !  "  quoth  the  Duke. 

Diana  laughed  and  rose,  looking  from  one  to  other 
with  that  serene  and  level  gaze  I  knew  so  well,  and  saluted 
them  with  a  slow  and  graceful  curtsey. 

"Indeed  you  overwhelm  me,  sirs,"  said  she,  smiling. 
"  Your  impatience  shall  be  satisfied,  you  shall  passion  and 
languish  no  longer ! "  And  now  as  I  bowed  above  her 
hand  came  her  whisper,  "  I  go  to  sing  for  you  —  to  you, 
Peregrine ! " 

Then,  giving  her  fan  to  Navy  and  her  gloves  to  Army, 
she  took  the  Duke's  arm  and  moved  away. 

And  in  a  while,  sitting  in  a  corner  of  the  great  ballroom 
between  my  two  uncles,  I  saw  her  stand  before  this  august 
assemblage  serene  in  her  proud,  young  beauty;  saw  her 
calm  gaze  seek  until  it  met  mine  and  drew  my  breath  a 
little  quicker  because  of  her  very  loveliness. 

Then  I  felt  the  smart  of  sudden  tears  as  from  the  or- 
chestra whispered  a  loved  and  familiar  melody  that  rose, 
little  by  little,  into  that  wild  and  plaintive  Zingari  air 
she  had  sung  so  often  in  the  Silent  Places  years  ago. 

And  now  from  her  white  throat  stole  a  murmur  of  sweet 
sound,  swelling  gradually  to  a  full,  round  sweetness,  ris- 
ing to  a  passion  of  sorrow  and  heartbreak,  and  dying 
to  a  sigh,  was  gone. 

For  a  long  moment  after  the  final  liquid  note  had  died 
away  was  utter  stillness,  an  awed  silence;  then  some  one 
ventured  to  clap,  others  joined  in,  and  upon  this  sound 
came  shouts,  cries,  cheer  on  cheer  —  a  frantic  ovation. 

"  By  Gad,  Perry,"  exclaimed  my  uncle  George,  blinking 
moist  lashes.  "She — she  can  sing,  ye  know!  What  I 
mean  is  she  can  —  sing,  b'gad  !  What  d'  you  say,  Jervas  ?  " 

"That  you  are  exactly  right,  George,  she  can  sing!" 
answered  my  uncle  Jervas  softly.  "  She  and  her  voice  are 
one  in  beauty.  And  she  signals  you,  Perry,  I  think ! " 

"  Be  off,  Peregrine !  "  said  my  uncle  George.  "  Be  off, 
lucky  dog  —  London  will  run  mad  —  she  '11  be  the  reign- 
ing toast  to-morrow." 


Of  a  Ring  and  a  Veil         345 

The  Army  and  the  Navy  yielded  her  to  me  with  a  some- 
what bad  grace,  and  her  slim  fingers  on  my  arm  guided 
me  through  the  throng  to  a  deep  curtained  window  re- 
cess, and  in  this  comparative  seclusion  she  turned  and 
faced  me,  and  I  saw  that  she  was  trembling  a  little. 

"  Peregrine,"  she  murmured,  wistful  and  eager,  "  am  I 
changed  very  much  —  too  much?  I  have  worked — so 
hard  and  all  —  all  for  you  —  O  Peregrine  —  dear  —  do 
I  truly  please  you?" 

"  Please  me !  "  I  mumbled.  "  Oh,  my  Diana  —  !  "  Her 
lashes  drooped  and  then,  as  she  swayed  to  me,  I  clasped 
her  in  my  arms  and,  tremulous,  fragrant,  vital  with  love 
and  youth,  she  gave  her  lips  to  mine. 

"  Is  it  worth  the  years  of  waiting?  "  she  whispered  be- 
neath my  kisses. 

"  God  knows  it ! "  I  answered  and  lifted  her  hand  to 
my  lips  and  then  stood  utterly  still,  cold  with  a  sudden, 
horrible  sickness  —  staring  at  this  white  hand,  where,  amid 
sparkling  gems,  I  saw  the  dull  oval  of  a  scarabaeus  ring. 

"  What  is  it,  Peregrine  ? "  she  questioned,  a  little 
breathlessly.  "  This  scarab  ?  It  is  one  my  dear  pal 
bought  me  in  Egypt.  Come  away,  dear,  let  us  run  from 
the  crowd — let  us  steal  away  together,  somewhere  — 
anywhere — -"you  and  I."  And  speaking,  she  drew  about 
her  shoulders  a  scarf,  a  filmy  thing  of  gossamer,  spangled 
with  gold  stars.  "  Quick,  Peregrine ! "  she  breathed. 
"There  is  the  duke  —  coming  this  way,  quick  —  before 
he  spies  us  ! " 

"  Impossible ! "  I  answered,  wondering  to  hear  myself 
speaking  so  lightly.  "  His  Grace  has  seen  us  already  — 
besides,  your  duty  lies  here  to-night." 

"  Very  well,  dear  Peregrine,"  she  sighed,  "  but  I  had 
hoped  you  —  you  would  have  bade  me  forget  duty  —  a 
little  while." 

So  she  turned  away  and  indistinctly  I  heard  the  duke 
begging  her  to  sing  again ;  then  I  watched  her  go,  smiling 
and  bowing  to  her,  but  with  a  buzzing  in  my  brain  and 
all  hell  raging  in  my  breast. 


346  Peregrine's  Progress 

A  black-bodied  chaise  —  picked  out  in  yellow  —  red 
wheels  —  Captain  Danby! 

For  a  long  time  I  stood  in  the  shadow  of  the  window 
curtains  staring  out  upon  a  moon  hidden  ever  and  anon 
in  flying  cloud-wrack;  but  at  last  I  turned  and  wandered 
away  with  some  vague  idea  of  finding  Anthony,  and  as  I 
went,  the  lights  and  glitter,  the  sounds  of  voices  and 
laughter  grew  ever  more  distasteful,  and  turning  my  back 
on  it  all,  I  found  my  way  into  a  wide  corridor.  And  here, 
in  a  shady  alcove  screened  by  curtains,  I  espied  Anthony 
kissing  his  wife;  her  round,  white  arms  were  about  his 
neck,  crushing  his  cravat  woefully,  but  seeing  the  rapture 
in  their  faces  I  stole  away  and  left  them. 

Reaching  the  hall  I  bade  a  footman  summon  my  car- 
riage, but  on  second  thoughts  countermanded  the  order 
and,  donning  hat  and  cloak,  set  out  to  walk  home  to 
my  chambers.  A  wind  was  abroad  and  I  walked  bare- 
headed to  cool  the  fevered  throbbing  of  my  temples,  but 
this  wind  found  voices  to  mock  me  and  at  my  heels  ran 
demons,  gibbering  obscenities. 

Reaching  my  door  at  last,  I  thundered  on  the  knocker 
until  it  opened,  and  brushing  past  the  pallid  Clegg,  bade 
him  order  my  horse. 

"Horse,  sir?"  he  repeated,  a  note  of  interest  in  his 
usually  toneless  voice.  "Do  you  propose  to  go  riding, 
sir?" 

"I  do!" 

"Yes,  sir  —  which  horse  do  you — ?" 

"  Wildfire.    Have  him  brought  round  at  once ! " 

"Very  good,  sir!" 

Not  waiting  for  Clegg's  assistance,  I  slipped  off  my 
evening  garments  and  was  pulling  on  my  riding  boots 
when  I  heard  the  tattoo  of  Wildfire's  impatient  hoofs 
upon  the  roadway. 

"What  time  may  I  expect  you  back,  sir?"  enquired 
Clegg,  as  I  jingled  downstairs. 

"  I  cannot  say.  I  may  be  late  or  very  early  so  —  get 
to  bed." 


Of  a  Ring  and  a  Veil          347 

"If  you  are  travelling  far,  sir,  might  I  suggest  that 
your  pistols  are  ready  in  their  holsters  upstairs  — " 

"  I  shall  not  need  them ! "  said  I,  and  stepped  out  into 
the  street  where  Wildfire  danced  and  capered  in  the  grasp 
of  Tom,  my  groom. 

"He  do  be  werry  fresh,  sir,"  warned  Tom. 

"So  much  the  better!"  said  I.  "Hold  him  until  I 
give  the  word." 

So  saying,  I  swung  to  saddle,  settled  feet  in  stirrups  and 
gripped  the  reins  short  in  gloved  hand. 

"  An  evil  night,  sir !  "  said  Clegg.  "  And  you  won't 
take  your  pistols  ?  " 

"No!    Let  go,  Tom!" 

Back  sprang  the  groom  and,  snorting  joyfully,  Wild- 
fire sprang  away. 


CHAPTER  V 

STOBM  AND  TEMPEST 

A  BLUSTEBOUS  wind  that  fluttered  the  skirts  of  my  long, 
caped  coat,  that  filled  the  night  with  stir  and  tumult  and 
flaws  of  sudden  rain;  a  wind  that  whirled  black  masses  of 
ragged  cloud  across  a  lowering  heaven  lit  by  a  pallid  moon 
that  peeped  stealthily  and  vanished,  to  peep  again. 

And  glancing  from  desolate,  wind-swept  streets  to  fly- 
ing cloud-wrack,  I  judged  there  was  worse  to  come  and 
knew  a  strange,  unnatural  joy  therefore,  as  I  bent  my 
head  to  buffeting  wind  and  reined  the  fiery  animal  I  be- 
strode to  less  furious  pace. 

We  crossed  the  river  at  London  Bridge,  a  dark  horror 
of  moving  waters  swirling  here  and  there  in  the  ineffectual 
beam  of  lamp  or  lanthorn ;  on  past  gloomy  streets  and 
narrow  courts  where  dim  forms  jostled,  and  ever  and  al- 
ways the  blusterous  wind  rioting  'twixt  heaven  and  earth, 
booming  in  chimneys,  moaning  in  dark  corners,  rattling 
windows,  clapping-to  crazy  shutters  and  setting  sign- 
boards a-swing  on  scolding  hinges. 

On  and  on  through  this  ever-growing  turbulence,  while 
Wildfire  tossed  proud  head,  snorted  defiance  upon  the 
elements,  and  bored  eagerly  upon  the  bit.  But  once  the 
great  city  was  behind  us,  I  gave  him  his  will  and  away  we 
went  headlong  into  the  wind,  the  clatter  of  his  galloping 
hoofs  drowned  in  the  universal  uproar.  But  fast  as  he 
sped,  the  demon  of  doubt  and  suspicion  and  growing  dread 
kept  pace,  and  for  once,  riding  Wildfire,  I  forgot  Wildfire 
and  all  else  save  the  hell  within  me. 

A  black -bodied  chaise  picked  out  in  yellow! 

And  now  came  the  rain  to  lash  me  and  I  bared  my  head 
the  better  to  feel  it.  Before  me  in  the  swirling  dark  were 
twinkling  lights  lurching  rapidly  nearer,  and  down  upon  me 
loomed  a  stagecoach,  a  mountainous  shape  that  flitted  by 


Storm  and  Tempest  349 

me  like  a  phantom.  A  phantom?  The  very  night  seemed 
peopled  by  phantoms;  I  sped  past  phantom  wains  and 
waggons,  piled  high  with  phantom  loads,  that  moved  with 
no  sound  of  hoofs  or  wheels ;  spectral  horsemen  flitted  by, 
soundless ;  in  the  shadow  of  hissing  hedgerow  and  raving, 
wind-tossed  trees  crawled  miserable,  nebulous  shapes,  seen 
but  to  be  lost  again,  swallowed  in  the  howling  murk. 

Rushing  wind  and  lashing  rain ;  pale  gleams  of  a  fitful 
moon  to  show  swaying  trees  that  tossed  wild  arms  to 
heaven,  and  a  splashing  quag  below,  mud  and  wind-swept 
pools,  all  lost  again  in  the  swirling  dark.  And  buffeted 
thus,  beaten  by  rain,  smitten  by  unseen  things,  gasping 
in  the  wind's  fierce  gusts,  my  one  thought  was : 

A  black-bodied  chaise  with  red  wheels  —  Captain 
Danby ! 

How  long  I  galloped  at  this  wild  and  reckless  pace  I  do 
not  know,  but  little  by  little  I  became  aware  that  the  rain 
had  ceased,  the  clouds  were  rent  asunder  and  the  moon 
looked  down,  pale  and  remote,  upon  a  desolate  country- 
side very  ghostly  and  unreal  and  wholly  unfamiliar.  Be- 
fore me  was  a  winding  road  fringed  with  dripping,  sombre 
trees  and  reining  Wildfire  to  a  standstill,  I  found  that 
the  wind  had  greatly  abated  its  fury.  But  though  the 
storm  was  over,  the  storm  within  me  raged  fierce  as  ever ; 
therefore,  heedless  of  where  the  morning  found  me,  I 
spurred  Wildfire  forward  and  rode  with  slackened  rein, 
leaving  him  to  take  me  where  he  would. 

A  black-bodied  chaise —  What  should  bring  Diana  in 
company  with  such  brutal  satyr  as  Captain  Danby? 

Lost  thus  in  agonising  thought,  I  was  riding  with 
loosened  rein  and  lax  grip  when  Wildfire  shied,  swerved 
violently,  throwing  me  from  the  saddle,  and  lying  half- 
stunned,  I  heard  him  gallop  away  down  the  road. 

For  a  while  I  lay  there  with  no  desire  to  move,  but  at 
last,  summoning  all  my  resolution,  I  scrambled  weakly  to 
my  feet  and  endeavoured  to  follow,  but  after  some  while, 
wondered  to  see  it  so  dark  and  found  I  was  among  trees 
that  closed  about  me  ever  denser.  Yet  I  struggled  on, 


350  Peregrine's  Progress 

pushing  my  way  haphazard  through  the  undergrowth, 
being  yet  much  shaken  by  my  fall,  until  I  came  out  into  a 
narrow  way  lit  by  the  moon ;  but  scarcely  was  I  here  than 
I  paused  to  lean  against  a  tree,  overcome  by  a  sick  faint- 
ness.  And  thus  leaned  I  some  while  to  recover  my 
strength,  and  in  my  ears  the  dismal  drip,  drip  of  sodden 
trees  and  the  mournful  sigliing  of  the  wind  in  their 
branches,  a  sigh  that  rose  every  now  and  then  to  a  low 
wailing,  very  dreadful  to  hear. 

Now,  all  at  once,  I  lifted  my  aching  head,  for,  as  my 
brain  cleared,  I  knew  that  this  wailing  was  not  of  the 
wind;  thus  I  stood  with  breath  in  check  waiting  for  it  to 
come  again.  And  suddenly  I  heard  it,  a  low,  murmurous 
cry,  unutterably  doleful. 

"  O  God  —  O  God  —  I  want  to  be  dead  —  I  want  to  be 
dead!" 

So  I  turned  aside  and,  following  the  path,  saw  it  ended 
at  a  frowning  doorway  set  within  a  high  and  sinister  wall ; 
and  recognising  this  door,  this  high  wall  and  gloomy 
wood,  I  felt  myself  cold  with  that  indefinable  sense  of 
impending  evil  which  this  desolate  place  had  awoke  in  me 
before  — 

"  O  kind  God  —if  I  could  only  die!  " 

Going  in  among  the  trees  I  saw  a  shape  of  misery  out- 
stretched face-down  upon  the  sodden  earth,  a  shape  that 
wrung  pale  hands  and  writhed  in  awful  manner.  Trem- 
bling, I  sank  on  one  knee  beside  her. 

"  Woman ! "  said  I,  laying  hand  lightly  on  her  shoulder. 
"Child!" 

She  raised  a  haggard  face,  its  youthful  beauty  distorted 
by  horror,  its  pallid  cheeks  stained  with  mire,  and  I 
blenched  before  the  look  in  these  wide  eyes. 

"  Don't  touch  me !  "  she  whispered  hoarsely.  "  Don't 
look  at  me  —  I  can't  abide  it  —  go  away  —  let  me  die  —  " 

"  Child,  where  is  your  home?  " 

"None!"  she  whispered.  "None!  I  durs'n't  go 
back  .  .  .  now.  Oh,  never  no  more  .  .  .  they  made  me 
drunk  .  .  .  when  I  woke  .  .  .  ah,  don't  look  at  me 


Storm  and  Tempest  351 

...  I  wish  the  sun  'ud  go  out  for  ever  ...  if  I  could 
only  die!  ...  I  fought  them  as  long  as  I  could  .  .  . 
Oh,  kill  me,  God  ...  I  want  to  be  dead  .  .  .  but  I 
want  Tom  first  .  .  .  my  Tom  ...  I  want  him  to  know 
't  were  n't  .  .  .  my  fault.  O  Tom  dear,  Tom  as  I  loved 
.  .  .  how  can  I  tell  'ee.  O  God,  I  want  to  be  dead ! "' 

"  Come,  child,'*  said  I  gently.  "  Come  with  me,  you 
shall  be  safe,  sheltered  for  to-night,  and  in  the  morning 
Tom  shall  be  found  for  you  —  " 

"  Ah,  no,  no ! "  she  panted,  shrinking  from  my  touch. 
"  You  're  a  man  too  —  let  me  die ! " 

"  Poor  girl,  poor  child,"  said  I,  "  there  is  an  inn  near 
by  and  a  good  woman  to  comfort  you,  come,  you  shall  be 
safe,  I  swear,  and  find  your  Tom  —  " 

Despite  her  feeble  struggles,  I  got  her  afoot  and 
half-led,  half-carried  her  along  that  tortuous  path  and  so 
at  last  out  of  that  evil  wood.  Afar,  across  the  meadows, 
I  spied  the  chimneys  of  the  "  Soaring  Lark  "  and,  though 
dawn  was  not  broken,  to  my  joyful  wonder  saw  its  hos- 
pitable windows  aglow  and  the  beam  of  a  moving  light  in 
the  yard. 

How  we  accomplished  the  distance  I  do  not  know,  but 
we  reached  the  inn  at  last  and  beheld  a  lanthorn  borne  by 
a  stalwart  form. 

"  Who  's  yon  ?  "  demanded  a  gruff  voice. 

"  George,"  I  panted,  "  if  that 's  you  —  bear  a  hand 
with  this  poor  girl  —  quick,  she's  swooning  — : 

"  Why,  Mr.  Vereker ! "  exclaimed  George's  astonished 
voice,  and  next  moment  the  fainting  girl  was  caught  up  in 
powerful  arms  and  borne  into  the  inn  kitchen,  I  staggering 
after. 

"Mary  —  Moll  —  O  Mary,  old  woman!" 

A  patter  of  quick  feet  upon  the  stair  and  George's 
Mary  came  running,  seeming  as  bonny  and  buxom  as  ever, 
despite  her  scant  deshabille,  as  she  bent  above  the  swoon- 
ing girl. 

"  Poor  maid  —  out  i'  the  storm  an'  clemmed  wi'  cold  an* 
'unger,  poor  lass !  Bring  her  upstairs  —  our  warm  bed, ! 


Peregrine's  Progress 

Jarge  —  an'  then  brandy,  lad,  an'  the  kettle  on  th'  fire— • 
up  wi'  you ! " 

Left  alone,  I  filled  the  kettle  from  a  bucket  in  a  corner, 
and  setting  it  upon  the  fire,  drew  up  a  chair  and  sat  to 
dry  my  clothes  and  warm  my  shivering  limbs,  and  pres- 
ently, what  with  my  weariness  and  the  fire's  comfort, 
began  to  nod.  Opening  unwilling  eyes,  I  found  George 
beside  me,  holding  a  steaming  glass  to  my  lips,  and  now 
felt  myself  deathly  cold  and  shivering  in  every  limb. 

"  Drink  it,  sir  —  hot  rum  an'  a  slice  o'  lemon  —  nought 
like  it  —  drink  it.  Lord,  Mr.  Vereker,  sir  —  'ere  be  a 
go  sure-ly ! "  he  exclaimed,  smiling  and  nodding,  as  I 
sipped  the  fragrant  beverage.  "  Awhile  agone  comes  an 
'orse  into  the  yard,  a-stampin'  and  a-neighin',  so  up  I 
j  umps  and  looks  out  o'  winder.  *  Lord,  old  woman,'  I 
sez,  '  yonder 's  Mr.  Vereker*s  Wildfire,'  I  sez,  *  I  'd  know 
'im  anywheers,'  I  sez ;  *  but  what  beats  me,'  I  sez,  *  there 
ain't  Mr.  Vereker.'  So  down  I  comes,  rubs  down  the  'oss, 
takes  the  lanthorn  an'  is  about  to  start  lookin'  for  you 
when  in  you  comes  an*  wi'  you  this  poor  lass  —  so  wot  I 
says  now  is,  Lord,  Mr.  Vereker,  sir,  'ere  's  a  go,  sure-ly ! " 

"  It  is !  "  said  I.    "  What  of  the  girl,  poor  soul  ?  " 

"  All  right,  Mr.  Vereker,  sir —  she'm  wi'  my  old  woman, 
y'  see,  consequently  she'll  be  right  as  ninepence  in  the 
morning,  bless  your  'eart,  sir." 

"I  doubt  it,  George.  You  see,  I  found  her — in  the 
pine  wood  yonder,  close  beside  that  damnable  gate  in  the 
wall." 

"Did  ye  so,  sir,  did  ye  so?"  said  he  in  altered  voice. 
Then,  clenching  his  brawny  fists,  he  raised  frowning  eyes 
to  a  bayonet  above  the  mantel,  a  long,  deadly-looking 
thing  that  glittered  with  constant  cleaning.  "Ah,  by 
God !  "  he  growled  fiercely,  "  by  God,  Mr.  Vereker,  sir  — 
there 's  them  as  I  'd  like  t*  have  wrigglin*  their  beastly 
lives  out  on  the  end  o'  my  old  bagnet  —  " 

"  Hot  water,  Jarge ! "  commanded  the  buxom  Mary 
from  the  stairs. 

"Comin',  old  woman  —  comin'!     Get  a  nap,  Mr.  Ver-« 


Storm  and  Tempest  353 

eker,  sir;  your  wet  clo'es  won't  hurt  'ee  now  —  I've  slep' 
in   wetter  many   a  time  in  the  Peninsula  —  nothin'   like 
rum  took  'ot  an'  plenty  on  't  sir.     Comin',  old  woman  — 
comin'  ! "  and  whisking  the  heavy  kettle  from  the  fire,  he 
nodded  and  hurried  up  the  stair. 


CHAPTER  VI 

I  AM    HAUNTED   OF   EVIL   DK.EAMS 

EITHER  George  was  of  different  fibre  to  me,  or  the  rum 
had  been  neither  hot  enough  nor  sufficiently  strong,  for 
on  awaking  I  found  myself  full  of  pain,  the  least  move- 
ment an  agony,  my  head  throbbing  woefully  and  I  burning 
with  fever. 

George  looked  at  me  and,  shaking  his  head,  hurried 
for  his  wife,  who,  having  taken  my  pulse  and  felt  my  brow, 
clucked  over  me  like  a  distressed  and  motherly  hen  and 
ordered  me  immediately  to  bed,  whither,  after  some  argu- 
ment and  faint  reluctance  on  my  part,  I  was  promptly 
conducted  by  the  indefatigable  George,  and  where,  having 
been  duly  physicked  by  his  Mary,  I  sank  to  a  restless 
slumber.  And  now  ensued  a  dim  period  of  troubled 
dreams  and  horrible  nightmares. 

I  awoke  to  find  my  chamber  full  of  the  glow  of  evening; 
through  the  open  lattice  breathed  an  air  sweet  with  a 
perfume  of  flowers ;  borne  to  my  drowsy  hearing  stole  a 
mingling  of  soothing,  homely  sounds,  the  snort  of  a  horse 
from  the  stable,  the  clucking  of  hens,  the  faint  rattle  of  a 
pail,  to  all  of  which  peaceful  sounds  I  hearkened  in  lazy 
content  and  with  no  desire  to  move.  Vaguely,  at  the  back 
of  my  mind,  was  a  memory  of  some  trouble  now  forgotten, 
nor  did  I  seek  to  remember,  content  to  stare  out  upon  thia 
summer  evening;  nor  did  I  trouble  to  move  even  at  the 
opening  of  the  door  and  thus  presently  was  aware  of 
Anthony  bending  over  me. 

"Why,  Perry,  are  you  awake  at  last?  How  are  you, 
old  fellow?  " 

"  Very  well,  Anthony,"  I  answered,  vaguely  surprised 
to  hear  my  voice  so  far  off,  as  it  were.  "  Very  comfort- 
able, Tony,  only  —  a  little  weary  —  " 


I  am  Haunted  of  Evil  Dreams      355 

"  And  no  wonder,  Perry,  here  you  've  lain  raving  all 
last  night  and  most  of  to-day." 

"Raving,  Tony?" 

"  Aye  —  all  about  some  damned  postchaise  or  other  with 
red  wheels." 

"  Postchaise?  "  said  I,  wondering.  "  Postchaise?  How 
long  have  I  lain  here?  " 

"  This  will  be  the  fourth  day,  Peregrine." 

"  Four  days !  "  said  I.    "  Impossible !  " 

"  I  rode  down  yesterday  on  the  off-chance  of  finding  you 
here  —  and  here  you  were,  begad,  raging  in  fever  and 
cursing  and  swearing  very  creditably,  'pon  my  soul !  And 
all  George  could  do  to  hold  you  down  —  " 

"  I  'm  better  now,  Anthony  —  get  up  to-morrow  —  " 

"  For  which  God  be  thanked ! "  said  he  fervently,  and 
seating  himself  upon  the  bed,  he  grasped  my  hand.  "  Pere- 
grine," said  he  solemnly,  "  you  have  honoured  me  with 
your  friendship  and  as  your  friend  I  make  bold  to  offer 
you  a  friend's  advice,  —  in  heaven's  name,  old  fellow,  be 
more  discreet ! " 

"  In  what  particular,  Anthony  ?  " 

"  There  is  but  one,  Perry  —  only  one,  dear  fellow,  and 
spelt  with  five  letters  —  woman." 

"  You  grow  cryptic,  Anthony." 

"  My  dear  Perry,"  said  he,  beginning  to  fidget  with 
his  stock,  "  my  very  dear  fellow,  as  may  be  supposed, 
your  extraordinary  sudden  and  perfectly  inexplicable 
flight  from  Wyvelstoke's  reception  and  disappearance  has 
caused  no  small  consternation,  and,  to  one  person  in  par- 
ticular, very  much  grief  and  anxiety.  Under  these  dis- 
tressing circumstances,  I,  as  your  friend,  sought  an 
answer  to  the  riddle,  the  —  the  reason  for  your  —  very 
mysterious  disappearance,  and  naturally  arrive  at  the 
conclusion  that  it  is  a  case  of  —  er  —  cherchez  la  fem/me, 
Perry  —  " 

"  The  devil  you  did ! "  exclaimed  I. 

"  I  haunted  all  the  clubs,  Perry,  and  with  your  uncles 
made  discreet  enquiry  for  you  in  every  likely  and  unlikely 


356  Peregrine's  Progress 

quarter  —  yesterday,  as  a  last  possibility,  I  rode  down 
here  and  learned  from  George  how  you  came  staggering 
in  at  dawn,  plastered  with  mud,  wet  to  the  skin  and  ac- 
companied by  the  lady  who,  I  may  inform  you,  had  the 
good  judgment  to  disappear  as  soon  as  possible  — 

"  The  lady,"  said  I,  trembling  and  indignant,  "  was  a 
poor  distracted  creature  I  found  on  my  way  — " 

"  Precisely,  dear  fellow !  So  here  am  I  to  lend  you  such 
assistance  in  the  matter  as  a  friend  may.  No  reason  to 
worry  yourself,  only  in  heaven's  name  be  a  little  discreet, 
Perry  —  discretion's  the  word." 

"  Discretion  be  damned !  " 

"  Precisely,  old  fellow !  And  now  only  mention  how  I 
may  assist  you  in  this  unfortunate  situation?  " 

"  By  listening  to  me ! " 

"  Ears  wide  open,  Perry." 

So  I  told  him  briefly  of  the  storm,  how,  dazed  and 
shaken  after  being  thrown  by  Wildfire,  I  wandered  into 
the  wood  and  came  upon  the  poor,  distracted  girl  and 
brought  her  back  with  me  to  the  "  Soaring  Lark."  To 
all  of  which  he  listened,  tap-tapping  softly  with  his 
foot. 

"  Ha  —  outside  that  accursed  house !  "  he  exclaimed, 
when  I  had  done.  "  The  place  should  be  burned  down !  " 
And  then  in  a  different  tone,  glancing  at  me  somewhat 
askance,  "  But  then,  Perry  —  egad  —  don't  ye  see  this 
does  not  explain  your  abrupt  departure  from  the  recep- 
tion and  flight  from  London  —  now  does  it?" 

"  Not  in  the  least,  Anthony.  Nor  can  I  offer  any  ex- 
planation." 

Here  Anthony  pursed  his  lips  to  a  soundless  whistle 
and  began  his  soft  tap-tapping  again. 

"Diana  was  —  deeply  hurt,"  said  he  at  last.  "Every 
hour  she  is  grieving  for  you  —  breaking  her  heart,  Perry 
—  as  we  sit  here." 

"For  God's  sake,  Anthony,'*  I  cried  passionately, 
"keep  your  feet  still!" 

"Eh?     Oh,  begad,  forgive  me,  Perry!     Consequently, 


I  am  Haunted  of  Evil  Dreams      357 

she  will  be  overjoyed  to  learn  you  are  here  safe.  She  will 
post  down  to  you  as  fast  as  horses  can  bring  her — " 

"  Need  she  know,  Anthony?  "  At  this  he  turned  with  a 
kind  of  leap  and  glanced  at  me  with  a  startled  expression. 

"  Lord,  man  —  you  are  really  ill !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  111  or  no,  Anthony,  if  you  are  truly  my  friend  and 
value  my  friendship,  promise  me  —  swear  to  me  she  shall 
not  come  near  me !  " 

"  Egad,  Peregrine,  you  are  damned  ill !  " 

"Promise — promise!  Swear  me  this,  Anthony!" 
cried  I,  starting  up  in  bed  to  grasp  at  him  with  eager 
hands.  And  then  came  Mary,  running,  to  clasp  me  in 
eager  arms  and  lay  me  back  among  the  pillows. 

"  Mr.  Anthony !  "  she  cried.  "  Oh,  Mr.  Anthony,  did  n't 
I  warn  'ee  not  to  excite  'im  then  —  oh,  Mr.  Anthony !  " 

Lying  thus  helpless,  I  felt  myself  shaken  as  by  an  ague 
fit,  saw  Anthony  staring  down  at  me  fearful-eyed  ere  he 
crept  from  the  room,  felt  an  arm  beneath  my  head,  a  cup 
at  my  lips  and,  drinking  thirstily,  lay  awhile  staring  up 
at  the  ceiling,  where  red  wheels  seemed  to  spin  through 
the  mist  of  a  gossamer  veil  spangled  with  gold  stars. 

It  lay  curling  across  my  pillow  close  to  my  eyes,  stirring 
gently  as  if  endowed  with  life,  a  delicate,  shimmering 
filament,  never  quite  at  rest,  that  glowed  where  the  light 
caught  it,  and  I  watched  it  drowsily  until,  hearing  a 
stealthy  sound,  I  glanced  up  to  behold  my  uncle  George 
standing  beside  the  bed. 

"Why,  Peregrine,"  said  he  softly,  his  handsome  face 
unwontedly  grave,  "how  are  you,  dear  lad?" 

"  Thank  you  —  I  am  greatly  better  and  here  is  a  hair  on 
the  pillow,  Uncle  George!  This  is  neither  your  hair  nor 
mine,  and  Mrs.  Mary's  is  brown,  as  I  remember.  So  whose 
hair  is  this,  Uncle  George?" 

"Hair?"  he  repeated,  fumbling  with  his  whisker.  "I 
don't  see  any  hair,  Perry." 

"  Here  on  my  pillow,  Uncle." 

"  Well,  what  of  it,  lad.  Your  Aunt  Julia's,  perhaps  —  " 


358  Peregrine's  Progress 

"  Hers  is  black.  And  this  is  —  not  black,  you  '11 
notice,  sir,  and  —  very  long." 

"  Why,  so  't  is  !  But  if  it  distresses  you  —  there,  away 
with  it!" 

"But  whose  is  it?"  I  persisted. 

"  Lord,  Perry,  how  should  I  know  —  why  worry  about 
such  a  trifle.  Compose  yourself,  dear  lad.  I  '11  have  'em 
wake  Julia,  she  was  up  with  you  all  night  —  egad,  she  '11 
be  overjoyed  to  see  you  so  much  better  — 

"  Pray  no  —  don't  disturb  her.  Have  I  been  here 
long?" 

"  Nine  days,  Peregrine  —  touch  and  go  —  knocking  at 
death's  door,  boy  —  and  raving  like  any  madman." 

"  What  —  what  about,  sir?  "  I  questioned,  beginning  to 
tremble. 

"  A  lot  o*  wild  nonsense,  Perry  — 

"What,  sir  —  what?"  I  demanded. 

"  There,  there,  lad  —  don't  distress  yourself.  'T  was 
nothing  to  signify  —  mere  sick  fancies." 

"  Fancies  concerning  what,  Uncle  George  ?  " 

"  Well,  something  about  red  wheels  and  a  drowned 
woman  in  a  wood,  a  wall,  and  a  door,  and  suchlike  idle  stuff. 
Y'  see,  Perry,  not  content  with  getting  yourself  wet 
through,  you  must  let  that  brute  of  a  horse  o*  yours 
throw  you  on  to  your  head;  doctors  say  't  is  a  marvel 
you  're  alive,  and  begad,  Perry  lad,  'tis  our  firm  belief, 
Jervas  and  mine,  that  you  'd  ha'  died  if  it  had  n't  been 
for  your  wonderful  aunt  and  Diana  —  watched  over  you 
like  the  angels  they  are  —  saved  your  life  betwixt 'em — 

The  room  seemed  to  go  suddenly  black  and  from  the 
awful  darkness  my  uncle  babbled  cheerily,  while  I,  smitten 
by  a  nauseous  faintness,  strove  to  speak  yet  could  not. 

"Uncle  George,"  said  I  at  last,  "is  —  is  she  here  — 
now?" 

"Who,  Diana?  No,  lad.  But  be  patient,  she's  only 
out  riding  with  Barbara  —  was  with  you  here  all  day, 
she'll  be  back  soon  —  be  patient,  she's  never  long  away 
from  you  these  days,  b'gad  —  " 


I  am  Haunted  of  Evil  Dreams      359 

"  No ! "  cried  I,  shuddering,  "  no !  Don't  let  her  come 
near  me  —  don't  let  her  touch  me  —  send  her  away  or 
I  shaU  die!" 

"Good  God!"  ejaculated  my  uncle  George,  glancing 
about  helplessly.  "  He  's  off  again  —  this  cursed  fever 

—  must  call  Julia." 

"  Don't!  "-said  I,  reaching  out  a  feeble  hand  in  suppli- 
cation. "This  is — not  fever,  sir.  This  is  my  conscious 
self  imploring  you  to  keep  her  away  from  me,  or  I  shall 
truly  die  —  or  run  mad  —  " 

"  O  Peregrine  —  O  Peregrine,"  he  stammered,  in  chok- 
ing voice,  "  this  can't  be  you  —  to  say  such  things  —  so 
cruel  —  this  is  your  old  delirium  —  you  are  raving  again 

—  you  must  be  —  " 

"  Before  God,  sir,  speaking  in  all  sanity,  I  beg  and 
implore  that  you  will  —  keep  her  from  me." 

"  Oh,  damnation  —  this  is  awful !  "  exclaimed  my  uncle, 
his  handsome  face  looking  strangely  haggard.  "  Day  and 
night  in  your  delirium  you  have  lain  cursing  Diana  and 
with  Diana's  hand  upon  your  brow  and  Diana's  tears 
wetting  your  pillow  —  and  now  —  O  Peregrine,  lad,  tell  me 
you  don't  mean  it  —  that  you  are  a  little  fevered,  yes  — • 
yes,  people  at  such  times  often  turn  against  those  they 
most  love  —  will  kill  Diana  else  —  " 

"  Or  she  me,  sir  —  so  keep  her  away  —  don't  let  her 
touch  me  —  I  '11  not  see  her,  I  say  —  I  '11  not,  by  God  — 
I'll  not  —  " 

"  Hush  —  hush !    Don't  scream,  lad,  don't  scream  I " 

He  was  on  his  knees,  had  clasped  my  trembling  weakness 
in  his  great  arms  and  was  soothing  me,  and  I  weeping  for 
my  very  impotence,  when  the  door  opened  and  Aunt  Julia 
appeared. 

"  Dear  Heaven !  "  she  cried,  bending  above  me.  "  What 
have  you  done,  George?  What  have  you  done  to  him?" 

"  O  Aunt !  "  I  cried.  "  Dear  Aunt  Julia,  don't  let  her 
touch  me  again  —  don't  let  her  come  near  me  or  I  shall  go 
mad  —  " 

"  No,  no,  my  loved  Perry,  no  one  shall  tend  you  but 


360  Peregrine's  Progress 

myself —  there,  dear  boy,  be  comforted!    O  George,  don't 

stand  gaping  —  give  me  the  draught  yonder  —  quick !  " 

"  Promise  me,  Aunt  —  swear  she  shall  not  approach  me 


again ' ' 


"  I  swear  it,  dear  Peregrine.     Come,  drink  —  " 


CHAPTER  VII 

CONCERNING  THE  SONG  OF  A  BLACKBIRD  AT  EVENING 

MY  uncle  Jervas  helped  me  carefully  to  the  armchair  by 
the  open  lattice  and  thereafter  stood  looking  down  at  me 
with  a  certain  bleak  austerity  of  gaze. 

"  And  you  still  refuse  to  hold  any  communication  with 
her,  Peregrine?  " 

"I  do,  sir." 

"  Or  to  afford  her  the  least  explanation,  notwithstand- 
ing her  devouring  grief  and  distress  ?  " 

"  Sir  —  I  cannot,"  I  answered,  and  shivered  slightly. 

"  Do  you  feel  the  air  too  much,  Peregrine?  " 

"  Thank  you,  no,  sir.  But  the  topic  naturally  dis- 
tresses me!" 

"  Strange,"  said  my  uncle  Jervas  musingly,  "  very 
I  strange  that  I  should  be  pleading  your  gipsy's  suit  and 
'find  you  so  coldly,  mercilessly  determined  to  make  that 
pleading  vain !  You  are  as  stubborn  as  a  Vereker  and  I 
think  a  trifle  more  merciless.  Doubtless  the  reasons  for 
'your  so  sudden  change  are  sufficient  unto  yourself,  but  to 
your  friends  they  are  profoundly  incomprehensible,  nor 
would  I  seek  to  probe  the  mystery;  you  are  your  own 
master  and  judge,  and  Diana  is  rich,  has  London  at  her 
feet,  and  may  wed  whomsoever  she  will,  and  small  wonder! 
Indeed,  with  one  exception,  she  is  the  most  bewilderingly 
attractive  and  altogether  beautiful  woman  I  have  ever 
had  the  happiness  to  know.  So  here's  an  end  of  the 
matter,  once  and  for  all.  It  is  a  painful  topic,  as  you 
say ;  let  us  talk  of  other  things  —  yourself,  for  instance. 
You  will  be  up  and  about  again  soon,  what  do  you  pro- 
pose to  do  with  yourself,  Peregrine?  Now  there  is  your 
friend  Vere-Manville  playing  the  devil  about  town  —  has 
not  been  entirely  sober  for  a  fortnight,  I  hear  —  I  saw 
him  myself,  twice,  very  blatantly  drunk — " 


362  Peregrine's  Progress 

"  Indeed,  sir,  uncle  George  mentioned  something  of 
this  yesterday,  though  such  conduct  in  Anthony  is  quite 
incomprehensible.*' 

"  Not  content  with  this,  the  young  fool  is  gambling 
desperately,  haunts  all  the  noted  hells  —  I  heard  he 
dropped  over  a  thousand  recently  in  a  few  hours ;  his  reck- 
lessness is  becoming  a  byword." 

"  Good  heavens,  Uncle !    Is  he  mad?  " 

"  That  you  may  ask  him  personally.  I  understand  he 
intends  honouring  you  with  a  visit  this  afternoon.  He 
should  be  here  shortly,  unless  he  happens  to  be  drunk. 
You  are  his  friend,  Peregrine;  talk  to  him  as  such,  en- 
deavour to  stem  the  tide  of  his  folly,  if  only  for  his  young 
wife's  sake.  Curb  his  madness  if  you  can,  it  should  be 
an  occupation  for  your  leisure  not  without  interest." 

Thus  we  conversed  at  large  and  upon  many  topics  but 
spoke  no  further  regarding  her  of  whom  we  both  were 
thinking;  and  thus,  I  believe,  we  were  both  of  us  a  little 
relieved  to  hear  a  distant  "  view  hallo." 

"  There  rides  your  friend  Vere-Manville,  I  think,  Pere- 
grine, and  evidently  a  trifle  hilarious ! " 

A  trampling  of  hoofs  in  the  paved  yard  below,  and 
glancing  from  the  window  I  espied  Anthony  sure  enough, 
who,  leaping  from  the  saddle,  reeled  violently  and  clutched 
at  the  stalwart  George  to  save  himself. 

"  Aha !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  seems  something 's  matter  wi* 
old  mother  earth,  George  —  heaving  damnably  —  up  and 
down,  George  —  unless  it's  my  legs.  Where's  door, 
George?  Aye,  there  'tis.  Seems  dooced  small  —  unless 
it 's  my  eyes,  George  —  ha  ha !  "  So  he  blundered  in  and 
heavily  up  the  stair,  and  after  knocking  thunderously,  en- 
tered. At  sight  of  my  uncle  Jervas,  he  halted,  drew  him- 
self very  erect  and  bowed  profoundly  and  with  a  flourish, 
and  when  he  spoke  his  speech  was  so  thick  that  I  dreaded 
lest  he  hiccough: 

"  Your  servant,  S'  Jervas !    Hope  I  see  y*  well,  sir?  " 

My  uncle's  bow  was  extremely  stately  and  distant. 

"  Peregrine,"  said  he,  "  seeing  you  have  —  enlivening 


Song  of  a  Blackbird  at  Evening    363 

company,  I  will  take  occasion  to  go  and  meet  your  aunt 
Julia.  Mr.  Vere-Manville,  I  would  venture  to  impress 
upon  you  that  my  nephew  is  still  very  much  of  an  invalid." 
So  saying,  my  uncle  saluted  us  in  turn  with  his  grandest 
air  and  went  out,  closing  the  door  behind  him. 

"  Thinks  I  'm  drunk,  does  he ! "  exclaimed  Anthony, 
scowling  after  him.  "  Well,  what  the  devil  —  so  I  am, 
damned  d-drunk  and  so  much  the  better  —  " 

"  So  much  the  worse,  Anthony !  " 

"  Tush,  you  talk  like  a  fool,  Perry ;  better  be  drunk  and 
forget  than  be  sober  and  a  s-suicide  —  felo — felo-de-se, 
buried  at  cross  road  —  stake  through  your  inside  —  dev- 
ilish unpleasant  business  —  " 

"  You  talk  like  a  madman,  Anthony." 

"  And  you  like  a  f-fool,  Perry !  Here 's  you  come  back 
t'  life  like  a  fool,  instead  o'  dying  comfortably  and  re- 
spectably like  —  wise  man.  Here's  you  hoping  and 
yearning  to  marry  and  that 's  the  damndest  folly  of  all. 
Much  better  be  comfortably  dead  —  " 

"  For  shame,  Anthony  —  for  shame ! "  cried  I  angrily. 
"  If  you  have  so  lost  respect  for  yourself  —  at  least  think 
of  and  respect  your  wife  —  " 

"  Wife !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  My  wife !  "  and  springing 
up  out  of  the  chair  I  saw  him  tower  above  me,  clenched 
hands  upflung,  his  comely  features  distorted  and  horribly 
suffused ;  then  he  lurched  to  the  window  and  leaned,  chok- 
ing, from  the  lattice.  Suddenly  his  bowed  shoulders  began 
to  heave,  and  I  heard  him  laugh  in  dreadful  manner  and 
when  he  turned  his  look  was  demoniac. 

"Egad,  but  you  will  have  your  joke,  eh,  Perry,  and 
devilish  funny  —  aye,  devilish !  My  wife,  says  you  —  ha ! 
ha !  says  I.  You  're  drunk,  says  you  —  I  am,  says  I  —  so 
I  can  laugh,  d'  ye  see —  " 

"  Anthony !  "  I  cried,  rising  from  my  chair.  "  O  An- 
thony, here's  more  than  drink  —  dear  fellow,  in  God's 
name,  what  is  it?  "  And  I  grasped  at  him  with  weak  but 
insistent  hands. 

For  a  moment  he  made  as  if  to  throw  me  off,  then  his 


364  Peregrine's  Progress 

long  arm  was  about  me,  his  head  bowed  upon  my 
shoulder,  and  when  he  spoke  his  voice  had  lost  its  wild, 
mad  ring. 

"D'  ye  think  I  like  getting  drunk,  Perry?  But  there 
are  worse  things  —  madness  and  murder.  A  bullet  would 
be  quick,  but  I  still  have  hope  —  sometimes  —  and  death 
by  drink  is  a  slow  business,  so  I  've  chosen  death  by 
drink  —  " 

"Why,  Tony?    What  is  the  trouble?    Is  it  —  Barbara 

—  your  Loveliness  ?  " 

*'  She  has  never  been  the  same  since  she  came  back  from 
abroad,  Perry.  Some  secret  trouble  —  all  these  weeks 
it  has  been  getting  worse  —  she  has  sometimes  seemed 
afraid  of  me  —  of  me,  Perry !  At  last  I  taxed  her  with 
it  —  begged  she'd  confide  in  me.  She  told  me  there  was 
nothing,  laughed  it  off  and  I  believed  it,  like  a  fool  —  but 
that  night,  Perry  —  that  night,  as  she  slept  —  and  look- 
ing pure  and  holy  as  one  of  God's  angels,  she  —  cried  on  a 
name  —  a  man's  name.  I  woke  her  —  questioned  her, 
begged,  implored,  commanded  —  and  still  she  laughed, 
but  always  with  the  fear  in  her  eyes.  And  I  know  she  lied ! 
Then  I  took  to  watching  her  and  she  me  —  and  so  it  went 
on  until  —  there  were  times  when  I  could  have  struck  her 

—  choked  the  truth  out  of  her  —  O  Perry!      So  I  left 
her  —  went  to  London.     Oh  damnation,  d'  ye  wonder  I 
drink?    Better  drink  myself  to  the  devil  than  harm  her  — 
though   drink    will    take    a   long    time    to    kill    me,    I  'm 
afraid  —  " 

"  Drink  never  shall,  Tony !  There,  sit  down,  old  fellow, 
calm  yourself,  for  by  heaven  I  think  you  are  making  much 
out  of  little—  " 

"  Why  did  she  lie  to  me?  " 

"  Are  you  sure  she  did  ?  " 

"  Certain !  " 

"  What  do  you  propose  to  do?  " 

"  Go  back  to  London." 

"  Then  I  will  accompany  you." 

"Impossible;  you're  weak  as  a  confounded  rabbit!" 


Song  of  a  Blackbird  at  Evening    365 

"  I  'm  stronger  than  I  look ;  I  've  walked  regularly  in 
the  garden  these  last  three  days.  However,  if  you  go  to 
London,  I  go  too." 

"  Well,  and  if  so  —  what  could  you  do?  " 

"Remind  you  that  a  gentleman  must  endure  unflinch- 
ingly and  suffer  with  unshaken  fortitude." 

"  Ha,  would  you  preach  at  me?  " 

"Day  and  night,  if  necessary." 

"Would  you,  begad!" 

"  I  would !  Indeed  I  would  make  myself  a  pestilential 
nuisance  to  help  my  friend." 

"  Friend !  "  he  repeated.  "  Oh,  curse  and  confound  it, 
Perry,  if  I  was  n't  such  a  miserable,  hopeless  dog,  I  should 
be  proud  of  such  friendship — I  am  proud  of  it  and  always 
shall  be  —  but  here  our  companionship  ends.  There's 
but  one  course  for  me,  and  I  intend  to  ride  to  the  devil  — 
alone!" 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  the  door  opened  and  I  rose 
to  my  feet,  trembling,  as  Diana  stepped  into  the  room. 
She  was  clad  for  riding  and  her  close-fitting  habit  served 
only  to  accentuate  the  voluptuous  beauty  of  her  form, 
yet  her  eyes  seemed  maidenly  and  untroubled,  wide-opened 
and  serenely  steadfast  as  of  old,  and  this  of  itself  stirred 
within  me  a  sullen  resentment  as  she  stood  looking  at 
me,  a  little  pale,  very  wistful,  yet  radiant  in  her  beauty; 
and  when  she  spoke  her  voice  was  untroubled  as  her 
look. 

"  Mr.  Vere-Manville,  I  beg  you  will  leave  us  awhile !  " 

Even  as  she  spoke,  Anthony  bowed,  strode  to  the  door 
and  was  gone  before  I  could  stay  him. 

"Peregrine?" 

One  word,  softly  uttered,  yet  in  it  a  world  of  pleading — 
reproach  and  troubled  wonderment,  insomuch  that,  re- 
membering that  accursed  black-bodied  chaise,  the  ring  and 
gossamer  veil,  my  sullen  resentment  waxed  to  bitter  anger, 
the  whole  thing  seemed  so  utterly  nauseous. 

Evening  was  falling  and  from  one  of  the  trees  in  the 
orchard  a  blackbird  was  calling  to  his  mate,  soft  and 


366  Peregrine's  Progress 

sweetly  plaintive,  and  never,  to  the  end  of  my  days, 
may  I  hear  such  without  recalling  all  the  agony  of  this 
hour. 

We  stood  very  silent,  looking  upon  each  other,  while 
the  blackbird  piped  in  the  orchard  below;  and  now  I 
trembled  no  more,  for  my  anger  was  passed  and  in  its 
stead  was  a  cold  and  purposeful  determination. 

"Are  you  better,  Peregrine?*'  she  questioned  at  last. 
"  More  yourself?  " 

"  Thank  you,  yes." 

When  next  she  spoke  her  voice  faltered  a  little,  though 
her  glance  never  wavered. 

"  Peregrine,  why  —  why  did  you  —  drive  me  away  ? 
Why  refuse  to  see  me?  " 

"  To  avoid  a  painful  scene." 

"But  what  should  cause  a  painful  scene  —  between  us, 
Peregrine?  Oh,  my  dear,  what  is  it  —  what  has  changed 
you?  Is  it  your  illness?" 

"Let  us  suppose  so." 

"Have  you  no  —  no  other  explanation  to  offer  me?" 
she  questioned  wistfully  and  stood  waiting  my  answer, 
drawing  her  riding  gauntlet  a  little  nervously  through  her 
ungloved  hand,  on  the  slender  finger  of  which  I  saw  the 
scarabaeus  ring.  "  Is  there,  O  Peregrine,  is  there  no  other 
explanation  ?  " 

"  None ! "  said  I  savagely,  my  eyes  on  that  accursed 
ring.  "None!" 

"  Peregrine  —  dear,"  she  questioned  humbly,  "  have 
you  learned  to  —  to  love  one  more  —  more  worthy  than  I 
in  my  absence?  " 

"  God  forbid !  "  I  answered.  "  Love  has  become  for  me 
a  thing  abhorred  and  utterly  detestable." 

"  Then  God  help  me,"  said  she  in  strange,  passionless 
voice,  "  for  without  your  love  I  shall  be  desolate !  " 

"  But  you  are  so  beautiful  —  so  very  beautiful  you  will 
never  lack  for  comfort,  you  could  find  scores  of  noble 
suitors  to-morrow  eager  and  willing.  So  why  talk  of  deso- 
lation?" 


Song  of  a  Blackbird  at  Evening    36^ 

Now  at  this  she  shrank  a  little,  staring  at  me  with  a 
dawning  horror  in  her  eyes. 

"  Peregrine,"  she  whispered,  "  O  Peregrine,  can  this 
indeed  be  you?  My  loved  Peregrine,  my  gentleman  that 
was  so  chivalrous  and  gentle  once,  and  now  to  hurt  me  so 
wilfully  —  so  bitterly !  " 

"  I  am  two  years  older,  and  —  a  little  wiser,  perhaps." 

"  Two  years !  "  she  repeated  dully.  "  Two  years  I 
should  never  have  left  you  —  it  was  wrong !  And  yet  — 
can  two  years  work  so  great  a  change  in  any  one?  Ah, 
no,  no  —  this  cannot  be  you — so  cold  —  so  hard  and 
cruel!  Oh,  if  we  might  but  have  those  two  years  back 
again  when  you  were  your  own  dear  self  and  I  your  loving 
gipsy  girl  with  no  ambition  but  to  be  worthy  of — -just 
you!  O  Peregrine,  is  your  love  for  me  truly  dead  —  so 
soon?" 

As  thus  she  spoke,  all  pleading,  passionate  entreaty,  she 
came  towards  me  with  both  arms  outstretched,  her  eyes 
abrim  with  tears ;  but,  frowning  at  her  ungloved  hand,  I 
started  back  so  hurriedly  that  she  stopped  and  looked  at 
me  as  if  J  had  struck  her ;  then  she  shrank  away,  her  proud 
head  drooped,  her  arms  fell  and  she  covered  her  face. 
"  Then  it  is  true !  "  she  gasped,  "  all  —  dreadfully  true." 
And  upon  the  silence  stole  the  sweetly  plaintive  notes  of 
the  blackbird  calling,  calling  from  the  orchard  below. 

And  as  she  stood  thus,  bowed  and  shaken  with  her  grief, 
I  kept  my  gaze  ever  upon  that  betraying  scarabaeus  ring. 
Suddenly  she  raised  her  head  and  I  saw  her  tearless  but 
very  pale. 

"  Yes,  you  are  changed,"  said  she,  in  that  strange,  pas- 
sionless tone,  "  quite  changed ;  your  eyes  are  cold,  your 
face  cruel  and  hard  and  yet  —  O  dear  God ! "  she  cried, 
"  O  dear  God,  I  cannot  believe  your  love  is  truly  dead  — 
how  can  I?  O  dear,  dear  Peregrine,  tell  me  you  do  love 
me  still  —  if  only  just  a  little  —  oh,  be  merciful,  dear —  !" 

And  now  indeed  she  was  weeping  but,  blinded  by  her 
tears,  choked  by  her  sobs,  she  yet  reached  out  her  arms 
to  me  in  mute  appeal;  and  it  seemed  that  somehow  her 


368  Peregrine's  Progress 

tears  were  blinding  me  also,  her  passionate  sobs  shaking 
me,  for  I  stood  in  a  mist,  groping  for  the  support  of  my 
chair-back ;  indistinctly  I  heard  a  voice  speak  that  I  knew 
was  mine. 

"  So  you  still  wear  the  scarab  ring  —  I  've  seen  it  be- 
fore. But  where  is  your  veil  with  the  gold  stars?  I  did 
love  you  once  —  worshipped  —  reverenced  your  maidenly 
purity  —  your  brave  truthfulness  but  —  that  love  is  dead 
—  crushed  —  crushed  beneath  red  wheels,  and  I  would  to 
God  I  were  dead  with  it.  No  —  if  you  please,  don't  touch 
me  —  by  your  leave  I  will  sit  —  and  beg  you  to  excuse  me. 
I  —  would  be  alone." 

"  Ah,  Peregrine  —  beloved,  you  are  crying  too ! " 
"  Indeed  yes.     I  grieve  that  I  am  not  dead." 
"But  why  —  why  would  you  be  dead,  my  own?" 
"  Because  —  O  Diana  —  I  cannot  help  but  —  love  you 
after  all.     And  now,  pray  go  —  I  beseech  you,  leave  me 
ere  the  devil  break  loose  and  I  speak  the  unforgivable 
thing  .  .  .  Go,  I  entreat ! " 

With  some  such  hysterical  words  as  these  and  blinded 
by  a  gush  of  weak,  unmanly  tears,  I  sent  her  from  me,  un- 
heeding alike  her  piteous  entreaties  and  the  clasp  of  her 
imploring  hands.  When  she  was  gone  I  sank  into  my 
chair  and  suffered  my  tears  to  flow  unchecked,  while  the 
blackbird  voiced  the  agony  of  loss  and  disillusionment. 


THE  DEEPS   OF   HELL 

YOUR  Heroes  of  Romance  from  time  immemorial  have 
generally  been  large  men,  more  or  less  handsome,  super- 
latively strong,  void  of  all  fear,  stalwart  of  body  and 
steadfast  of  mind;  moreover,  being  singled  out  by  a  hard 
fate  to  endure  much  and  often,  they  suffer,  unflinchingly 
and  uncomplainingly,  to  extremity,  like  the  heroes  they 
are.  To  be  sure,  under  great  stress  of  mental  or  even 
bodily  anguish,  they  are  sometimes  allowed  to  sigh,  to 
tremble,  or  even  emit  an  occasional  groan,  but  tears,  it 
seems,  are  a  weakness  forbidden  them. 

All  of  which  foregoing  is  to  lend  additional  point  to 
the  fact  that  in  my  last  chapter  I  leave  myself  huddled 
miserably  in  my  chair  and  dissolved  in  bitter  tears ;  which 
of  itself  should  sufficiently  preclude  the  remotest  possi- 
bility of  my  reader  ever  mistaking  me  for  a  hero,  even  if 
Nature  had  not  done  this  already. 

Behold  me  then,  a  high-strung,  delicate,  hysterical  youth, 
weeping  in  an  agony  of  shameful  horror  evoked  of  a  per- 
fervid  imagination. 

O  Imagination !  Whoso  is  possessed  of  thee  is  cursed  or 
blessed  by  a  fearful  magic  whereby  the  misty  vision  be- 
comes real,  unworthy  suspicion  changed  to  hateful  cer- 
tainty, the  vague  idea  into  a  living  horror  to  haunt  us 
day  and  night  until  sweet  Reason  shrinks  appalled;  by 
Imagination  we  may  scale  the  heights  of  heaven  or  plumb 
the  foulest  deeps  of  hell. 

So  I,  being  not  in  the  least  like  a  Hero  of  Romance, 
wept  miserably,  staring  through  tears  upon  a  countryside 
bathed  in  the  glory  of  sunset;  but  to  my  jaundiced  vision 
this  radiance  but  made  my  circumambient  shadow  the 
blacker  by  contrast,  a  mephitic  gloom  wherein  a  chaise 
with  red  wheels  bore  Diana  to  her  "  slave  and  master  "  — * 


37°  Peregrine's  Progress 

a  master  whose  power  was  such  that  he  could  force  her, 
willing  or  unwilling,  to  obey  his  summons  —  his  every  be- 
hest .  .  .  horror  on  horror  .  .  .  shame  on  shame,  until 
my  mind  reeled  sick  with  loathing. 

And  she  who  had  driven  with  the  profligate  Danby  to 
God  alone  knew  what  infamy  —  even  she  would  return  to 
act  for  me  her  part  of  sorrowing  wonder  —  to  weep  and 
sigh.  Oh,  shameful  hypocrisy!  And  with  her  would  be 
my  aunt  and  uncles  to  wonder  also  and  shake  grave  heads 
over  me,  torturing  me  with  their  love  while  in  my  con- 
sciousness gnawed  this  undying  horror  that,  like  a  demon, 
raged  within  me,  passioning  for  utterance,  insomuch  that 
day  or  night  I  had  dreaded  lest  I  babble  the  obscenities 
that  haunted  me.  Better  to  die  than  speak!  A  bullet 
would  be  quick,  as  Anthony  had  said  —  and  I  had  no  fire- 
arms! But  I  remembered  that  in  the  kitchen  downstairs 
I  had  seen  a  pistol  hung  up  in  a  dark  corner  and  above  the 
mantel  hung  George's  bayonet,  at  whose  keen  point  lay 
silence  and  oblivion;  and  this  thought  had  in  it  a  degree 
of  comfort  as  I  sat  crouched  in  my  chair,  half-blinded  by 
my  unheroic  tears. 

The  sun  had  set,  the  blackbird  had  ended  his  song,  for 
evening  was  falling  apace;  against  the  glimmering  dusk 
bats  wheeled  and  hovered,  and  as  the  shadows  deepened, 
I  watched  the  stars  shine  forth,  while  low  down  in  the  dark- 
ening sky  was  an  effulgence  that  marked  the  rising  moon. 

Suddenly  I  arose,  moved  by  a  dominating  purpose, 
kicked  off  my  slippers,  struggled  into  my  boots  and,  taking 
surtout  and  hat,  strode  resolutely  downstairs;  by  good 
hap  there  chanced  to  be  nobody  in  the  kitchen  and,  cross- 
ing to  a  certain  corner,  I  took  from  the  wall  a  small  but 
serviceable-looking  pistol,  and  having  assured  myself  that 
it  was  primed  and  loaded,  I  slipped  it  into  my  pocket  and 
stepped  out  into  the  fragrant  dusk. 

But  as  I  crossed  the  yard,  George  suddenly  emerged 
from  the  stables. 

"Lord,  Mr.  Vereker,  sir!"  he  exclaimed,  touching  an 
eyebrow. 


The  Deeps  of  Hell  371 

"  Any  one  about,  George?  " 

"  Nary  a  soul,  sir  —  'cept  me  an'  my  little  old  woman. 
But  'bout  a  hour  ago  Mr.  Anthony's  lady  rides  up,  all 
a-tremblin'  an'  pale  —  an'  no  wonder,  poor  soul,  seein* 
Mr.  Anthony  galloped  off  lookin'  like  a  devil  an'  a  bottle 
o'  my  brandy  in  'is  pocket!" 

"Had  Mrs.  Vere-Manville  come  to  find  him,  George?" 

"  No,  sir !  He  'd  been  gone  a  good  'arf-hour  afore  she 
came.  *  O  George,'  says  she,  all  a-gaspin'  like,  '  is  Miss 
Lovel  'ere?'  *  Upstairs  along  o'  Mr.  Vereker,  ma'm,'  I 
says.  '  Oh,  I  must  see  her  —  I  must  see  her ! '  cries  she,  a- 
shakin'  wuss  'n  ever,  so  that  I  was  afeard  she  'd  fall  off 
'er  'oss  an'  'im  that  gentle!  'Can  I  'elp  you  ma'm?'  says 
I.  *  No ! '  says  she,  moanin'  an'  breathless-like.  *  Oh,  no, 
George  —  nobody  can,  O  God,  'elp  me,  God  'elp  me ! '  An* 
then,  sir,  down  comes  Miss  Lovel  an'  runs  to  'er.  '  Why, 
Babs  ! '  says  she,  anxious-like.  *  Oh,  what  is  it,  dearest  ? ' 
At  this,  Mr.  Anthony's  lady  begins  to  sob — 'eart-breakin', 
sir !  '  O  Di,'  says  she,  all  wildlike,  *  O  Di  dear,  'e  wants  me ! 
'E  says  I  must  go  —  to-night  —  an*  I  'm  afraid.'  So 
Miss  Lovel,  she  kisses  'er  an'  they  whisper  together.  Then 
Miss  Lovel  calls  for  'er  'oss,  an'  away  they  ride  very  close 
together,  an'  Miss  L.'s  arm  about  'er.  Lord,  sir,  who  'd  a 
thought  it  o'  Mr.  Anthony?  So  wild  an'  fierce-like  'e  were 
—  enough  to  fright  any  woman,  'specially  such  a  beautiful, 
gentle  creetur '  as  'is  wife !  Drink  's  a  fearsome  thing !  " 

"  True,  George.  But  Mr.  Anthony  would  die  rather 
than  harm  her,  I  am  sure." 

"  Maybe,  sir  —  but  'e  looked  'orrible  wild  an'  fierce  when 
'e  rode  off  —  an'  drink  du  be  a  tur'ble  thing." 

"  Now  —  touching  a  chaise,  George  —  " 

"  Chaise,  sir?  " 

"  A  black  chaise  picked  out  in  yellow,  with  red  wheels. 
You  have  seen  such  drive  up  to  Raydon  Manor,  yonder, 
you  tokf  me  once,  I  think  ?  " 

"  I  did,  sir,  an'  I  'ave  —  frequent !  It  do  have  drove  up 
theer  this  very  evening.  But  Lord,  Mr.  Vereker,  be  you  a 
thinkin*  o'  walkin'  out — an*  night  comin'  on?" 


372  Peregrine's  Progress 

"  I  am,  George."  _    --.»i_,, 

"'Twill  be  dark  soon,  sir.  And  you  'ardly  yourself, 
yet!" 

"  No,  George,  there  will  be  a  moon." 

"  But,  sir,  wot  am  I  to  tell  your  lady  aunt?  "  \ 

"  That  I  have  taken  a  walk  in  quest  of  my  health  —  and 
sanity,  George." 

"  Be  you  a-goin'  fur,  sir?  " 

"  No  further  than  I  need." 

"  Then  I  think  I  '11  go  along  wi'  you,  sir.*5 

"  No,  George,  I  may  be  back  before  the  moon  is  up. 
At  least  —  no,  it  will  be  high-risen  when  I  return,  most 
likely.  Only  pray  assure  my  aunt  that  I  am  doing  the 
very  best  for  myself."  So  saying,  I  left  the  faithful 
George  staring  after  me  and  shaking  dubious  head. 

I  walked  at  a  leisurely  pace,  deliberating  how  best  to 
contrive  the  desperate  task  I  had  set  myself  to  accom- 
plish, how  best  to  bring  it  to  a  final  and  certain  issue. 

And  presently  up  came  the  moon  in  glory  and  I  stared 
up  at  her  as  one  does  who  may  behold  her  perhaps  for 
the  last  time.  Calm  and  serene  she  arose,  and  as  I  walked 
amid  this  tender  light,  I  seemed  to  breathe  in  something 
of  her  passionless  serenity  and  knew  a  strange  exaltation 
of  mind,  placid  and  untroubled.  Gone  were  my  fevered 
dreams,  the  foul  horrors  that  had  haunted  me,  and  my 
obscene  demons  were  vanished  utterly  away  and  with 
them,  as  it  seemed,  the  inertia  of  my  late  sickness. 

To  die,  and  in  so  doing  take  evil  with  me,  leaving  the 
world  so  much  the  better?  To  die,  and  perhaps  find 
for  myself  that  oblivion,  that  untroubled  rest  that  I 
so  earnestly  desired?  Surely  Death,  after  all,  was  the 
Great  Good  Thing?  So  I  walked  on  at  leisurely  pace, 
serene,  assured  and  utterly  content. 

Reaching  the  high  road,  I  followed  it  until  I  espied  a 
Tutted  byway  bounded  on  the  one  hand  by  lofty  trees 
and  on  the  other  by  a  high  and  sinister  wall.  At  the  same 
leisurely  pace  I  strolled  down  this  dark  lane  and  thus 
arrived  at  a  pair  of  tall  and  very  massive  iron  gates. 


The  Deeps  of  Hell  373 

Here  I  paused,  and  though  the  adjacent  trees  cast  much 
shadow,  presently  discovered  a  bell  handle  to  which  I 
applied  myself  forthwith. 

After  some  delay  the  door  of  the  lodge  opened  and  a 
figure  appeared,  though  strangely  vague  and  indistinct 
and  then,  peering  at  me  through  the  bars  of  the  gate, 
I  saw  a  gigantic  negro,  his  skin  as  black  as  his  livery. 

"Is  your  master  in?  "  I  demanded. 

"Who  yo'  mean — mah  master?"  he  replied  in  surly 
tone. 

"  I  wish  to  see  Mr.  Haredale  or  Captain  Danby." 

"  No  sich  names  hyah !  " 

"Well  then,  I  want  Mr.  Trenchard." 

"  Who  's  yo'  se'f  to  see  Mas'r  Trenchard?  " 

"  I  am  an  —  acquaintance  of  his." 

"Well,  ah  don'  know  yo'  face,  so  ah  guess  dey's  boP 
out  fo'  you  an'  so  's  yo'se'f —  an'  can  stay  out,  fo'  shure." 
Having  said  which,  the  negro  laughed  shrilly,  and  I  saw 
the  flash  of  his  teeth  ere  he  departed. 

Balked  thus  but  determined  as  ever,  I  turned  away  and 
began  to  follow  the  wall,  looking  for  a  place  where  I 
might  climb  it  by  means  of  some  tree  or  rise  in  the  ground. 
And  with  every  step  the  sudden  conviction  I  had  formed 
that  Trenchard  was  Haredale  grew  stronger;  and  Hare- 
dale,  as  I  knew,  was  but  another  name  for  that  evil  rogue 
whose  name  had  once  been  Devereux. 

I  went  slowly,  scanning  every  yard  of  the  wall  for  a 
likely  place,  now  in  brilliant  moonlight,  now  in  shadow, 
while  stronger  and  stronger  waxed  my  determination  that, 
supposing  Trenchard  were  Devereux  indeed,  I  would  this 
night  rid  the  world  of  him  once  and  for  all. 

Presently,  as  I  went,  resolutely  seeking  a  way  to  come 
at  my  desire,  I  found  myself  stumbling  amid  the  dense 
gloom  of  tall  trees ;  but  I  pushed  on  until  before  me,  the 
moon  being  now  high-risen,  I  saw  the  blackness  cleft  by  a 
shaft  of  radiance  and,  coming  nearer,  stopped  all  at  once 
to  scowl  at  a  small  door  in  the  wall  that  seemed  to  scowl 
back  at  me  between  deep  buttresses. 


374  Peregrine's  Progress 

Now  suddenly,  as  I  stood  thus,  I  heard  a  sound  of 
steps  and  voices  on  the  other  side  of  the  wall,  a  key  was 
thrust  into  the  lock  of  this  door,  and  instinctively  I 
shrank  back  and  back  into  the  gloom  of  the  trees ;  I  heard 
the  key  turn,  the  drawing  of  heavy  bolts,  and  then,  as 
I  crouched,  hand  upon  the  weapon  in  my  pocket,  the  door 
opened. 

And  now  at  last  I  knew  why  this  door  had  haunted  my 
dreams,  a  thing  of  unutterable  evil  for,  from  beneath  its 
frowning  shadow,  out  into  the  moonlight,  stepped  Diana. 

She  was  shrouded  in  a  long,  hooded  cloak,  but  my  sick- 
ened senses  knew  her  even  before  she  put  back  the  hood 
to  glance  stealthily  about  her,  like  the  shameful,  guilty 
thing  she  was.  Suddenly  she  shrank,  cowering,  as  upon 
the  air  broke  a  strange,  inarticulate  cry  that  I  knew  for 
my  own;  an  unseen  hand  plucked  her  back,  the  door 
closed,  was  locked  and  swiftly  bolted,  and  I  heard  the 
sound  of  running  feet. 

And  now,  all  too  late,  I  sprang  to  smite  this  accursed 
door  with  maddened  fists,  to  beat  it  with  pistol  butt  and 
utter  incoherent  shouts  and  ravings.  All  at  once  my  arm 
was  in  a  powerful  grip,  the  pistol  twisted  out  of  my  hold 
and  I  glared  up  into  the  face  of  Anthony.  His  hat  was 
gone,  he  swayed  gently  on  his  feet,  and  when  he  spoke, 
his  voice  was  hoarse  and  indistinct. 

"What 's  t'  do,  old  fellow  —  dev'lish  din  you're  making 

—  most  infernal.     Won't  they  open  th'  curst  door  t'  ye 
then,  Perry?     Well  —  never  mind  —  take  a  pull  at  this 

—  nothing  like  brandy  —  " 

From  capacious  pocket  he  drew  forth  a  bottle  and  held 
it  towards  me,  which  I  forthwith  dashed  against  the  wall. 

"  And  now,"  said  I,  "  give  me  the  pistol !  " 

"What  for?"  he  demanded,  sobered  a  little. 

"  Because  I  purpose  to  shoot  him." 

"Who,  Perry?" 

"  Trenchard  or  Haredale  or  Devereux  or  whatever  he 
calls  himself.  Come,  give  me  the  pistol.  To-night  I  make 
an  end  of  him  and  his  deviltries  once  and  for  all." 


The  Deeps  of  Hell  375 

For  a  moment  Anthony  blinked  at  me  in  foolish  amaze. 

"  Why,  Perry  —  why,  Perry ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  B'gad, 
can  this  be  you  indeed?  "  And  then,  as  if  quite  sobered 
by  what  he  read  in  my  face,  he  fell  back  a  step,  brushed 
hand  across  his  eyes,  peered  at  me  again,  and  his  slouch- 
ing figure  grew  erect  and  purposeful. 

"  Give  me  that  pistol !  "  I  repeated. 

;<  No,  Peregrine ! "  said  he,  his  voice  sharp  and  incisive. 
"Killing  is  murder,  and  I  am  your  friend.  But  if  you 
wish  to  fight  a  fellow,  or  say  twenty  fellows,  b'gad,  I  'm 
with  you !  The  more  the  merrier  —  so  speak  the  word !  " 

"  Yes ! "  said  I.  "  Yes,  I  '11  fight,  but  kill  him  I  will  — 
it  almost  seems  preordained  that  I  should  kill  him  from 
tke  beginning  —  " 

"  And  who  did  you  say  he  was,  Perry?  " 

"Trenchard  he  calls  himself  hereabouts  —  the  damn- 
able villain  who  lives  here  at  Raydon  Manor." 

"  A  duel !  "  quoth  Anthony,  smiling  grimly.  "  If  you 
fight,  Perry,  I  fight ;  b'  God,  I  '11  find  somebody  to  ac- 
commodate me  one  way  or  another  —  a  duel,  oh,  most 
excellent!  Ha,  dooce  take  me,  but  you're  right,  Perry, 
I  never  thought  o*  this.  Oh,  damme,  the  very  thing  — 
I  'm  with  you  heart  and  soul,  dear  fellow,  so  come  on ! " 

So  saying,  he  ran  at  the  wall  and,  leaping  with  long 
arms  at  full  stretch,  gripped  the  coping  with  iron  fingers, 
drew  himself  up  and  reaching  long  arm  down,  had  swung 
me  up  beside  him,  all  in  a  moment. 

"  Ha,  Perry ! "  he  exclaimed,  as  we  prepared  to  drop 
into  the  garden  below,  "  I  *m  a  curst,  dull-witted  ass  — 
here  have  I  been  sedulously  guzzling  ale,  rum,  brandy  and 
dooce  knows  how  many  kinds  of  wine,  and  what  I  really 
needed  was  blood,  d'  ye  see?  Blood,  old  fellow,  no  matter 
whose.  And,  begad,  blood  we  '11  have  to-night,  Perry,  or 
know  the  reason  why.  Come  on,  old  fellow,  both  together 
—  now ! " 

Down  he  leapt  and  down  I  scrambled,  and  side  by  side 
we  advanced  towards  the  house  that  held  for  me  all  the 
nauseous  evil  and  unspeakable  shame  of  all  the  world. 


CHAPTER  IX 

COKCERNIXG  THJE  OPBNING  OF  A  BOOK 

"  ANTHONY,  give  me  the  pistol ! " 

"Damme,  no  —  ha'  patience!  Meantime  take  this  — 
more  useful  if  it  comes  t*  scrimmage ! "  And  he  twisted 
a  stake  from  the  flower  bed  we  were  trampling  and  thrust 
it  into  my  hand.  "Enemy's  country,  Perry,  —  qui  vive! 
Hist !  Attention  and  all  the  rest  of  it !  Forward  an'  curse 
the  consequences !  " 

So  we  stole  forward  like  the  madmen  we  were,  but  verj; 
silent  and  very  determined. 

The  house  stood  upon  a  noble  terrace,  a  large  house 
of  many  gables  and  windows,  most  of  these  last  being 
unlighted.  Fortune  seemed  to  favour  us,  for  we  met 
with  none  to  oppose  us,  and  mounting  a  broad  flight  of 
atone  steps,  reached  the  terrace  unmolested.  But  as  I 
stood  glancing  about  for  some  door  or  likely  window 
whereby  we  might  force  entrance,  Anthony  dragged  me 
down  suddenly  into  the  shadow  of  the  balustrade,  as 
round  a  corner  of  the  house  two  men  appeared. 

"Wot,"  growled  one,  pausing,  the  better  to  spit  in 
passionate  disgust,  "  put  the  'orses  to  the  phaeton,  must 
I?  And  at  this  time  o'  night  —  an'  all  for  a  couple  o' 
light  country  Molls  as  is  afeard  to  foot  it  'ome  in  the 
dark,  curse  *em!" 

"  She  ain't  no  country  Moll,  Ben,  leastways  not  'er  as 
I  see  —  a  reg'lar  'igh-stepper  —  all  the  lady,  Ben — such 
eyes,  ecod  —  such  a  shape  to  'er,  Ben  —  " 

"Well,  dang  'er  shape,  I  says!  Why  can't  she  go  a* 
she  come?  " 

"  Summat  in  the  wood  give  'er  a  turn,  scared  'er  like, 
an'  back  she  ran  to  the  Guv'nor  an'  orders  'im  to  'ave 
the  phaeton  round,  which  the  Guv'nor  does;  an'  there's 


The  Opening  of  a  Door       377 

*im  an'  t'  others  a-toastin'  of  'er  this  'ere  werry  minute. 
Oh,  she  's  a  lady,  Ben,  an*  mighty  'igh  an'  'aughty,  by, 
'er  looks." 

"  'Aughty !  "  sneered  Ben,  spitting  again.  "  Lady ! 
We  know  th'  kind  o'  ladies  as  comes  a  visitin'  th'  Gur*nor 
or  the  Captain  'ere  a-nights  —  " 

"  Shut  your  trap,  Ben,  an'  get  to  your  'osses,  lady  or 
no." 

"  Lady  —  ha,  fine  doin's  —  fine  doin's !  Shameless 
'ussies  —  " 

"  Close  up,  Ben,  close  up  —  mum  *s  the  word  hereabouts ! 
The  Guv'nor  's  got  a  quick  eye  for  a  fine  young  woman  — 
ah,  an'  so  's  you  an'  me,  for  that  matter!  An'  I  tell  ye, 
this  'un  's  a  fine  lady,  even  if  a  bit  frolicsome.  So  git  to 
your  'osses,  Ben —  an'  sharp's  the  word." 

The  man  Ben  sniffed  and,  muttering  evilly,  slouched 
away,  leaving  his  fellow  to  sigh  gustily  and  stare  up  at 
the  moon;  a  square-shouldered,  bullet-headed  man  who, 
leering  up  at  Diana's  chaste  loveliness,  began  to  scrape 
and  pick  at  his  teeth  with  a  thumb  nail.  And  then  An- 
thony sneezed  violently.  The  man  stood  rigid,  thumb  at 
mouth,  peering. 

"  'Oo  's  there?  "  he  demanded  gruffly,  and  began  to  ad- 
vance, head  bowed  and  arms  squared  in  a  posture  of 
offence. 

In  one  moment,  as  it  seemed,  Anthony  was  upon  him; 
ensued  a  scrape  of  feet,  a  thudding  of  blows,  a  strangled 
cry,  and  they  were  down,  rolling  upon  the  gravel  and 
with  never  a  chance  for  me  to  get  in  a  stroke  with  my 
unwieldy  hedge  stake.  At  last  Anthony  arose,  panting 
a  little  and  smiling  grimly,  looking  from  the  man's  inert 
form  to  his  own  bleeding  knuckles. 

"  This,"  he  whispered  breathlessly,  "  this  is  doing  me 
—  power  o'  good !  Toughish  customer  —  forced  to  give 
Lim  —  tap  with  pistol  butt.  How  about  the  fellow  Ben?  " 

"No,  no,  Anthony!  The  door  yonder — quick  —  this 
way!" 

I  remember  a  long,  dim-lit  passage,  a  narrow  stair, 


378  Peregrine's  Progress 

and  we  found  ourselves  in  a  broad  and  spacious  hall 
where  shaded  lamps  burned  and  nude  statues  gleamed 
against  rich  hangings. 

Borne  to  our  ears  came  a  jingle  of  glasses,  the  line  of 
a  song  and  boisterous  laughter.  A  door  opened  suddenly 
and  a  man  stepped  into  the  hall,  his  bulky  figure  outlined 
against  the  lights  of  the  room  behind  him,  but  he  paused 
upon  the  threshold  to  glance  back  and  flourish  something 
triumphantly. 

"  Treasure  trove !  "  he  laughed.  "  The  memento  of  a 
delightful  hour!" 

With  the  words  upon  his  lips  he  turned,  and  I  recog- 
nised Captain  Danby.  He  was  halfway  across  the  hall  when 
he  espied  us  and  stopped  to  glare  in  wide-eyed  amazement ; 
something  fluttered  to  the  floor  and  he  began  to  retreat 
softly  and  slowly  before  us,  but  Anthony  was  pointing 
down  at  a  small  bundle  of  lace  with  hand  that  shook  and 
wavered  strangely. 

"  Look  at  it,  Perry  —  look !  "  he  muttered.  "  Look, 
man !  Why  —  God's  death,  Perry  —  it 's  her  lace  scarf 
—  belongs  to  my  Loveliness,  Perry  —  should  know  it  any- 
where —  it 's  —  hers,  man  —  and  here !  Oh,  damnation !  " 

In  a  flash  he  had  picked  it  up  and,  roaring  like  a  mad- 
man, hurled  himself  against  the  closing  door.  For  a 
moment  was  a  desperate  scuffling  and  frenzied  straining 
and  gasping,  a  creaking  of  stout  panels,  then  the  door 
swung  violently  open  and  we  burst  into  the  room. 

A  disordered  supper  table  littered  with  bottles,  three 
or  four  breathless  gentlemen  who  panted  and  glared,  and 
a  curtained  doorway  in  one  corner;  all  this  I  was  aware 
of,  though  my  gaze  never  left  the  face  of  him  who  stood 
before  this  curtained  door,  a  tall,  slender  man  very  ele- 
gantly calm  and  wholly  unperturbed,  except  for  the  slight 
frown  that  puckered  his  thick  brows,  —  a  handsome  face 
the  paler  by  contrast  with  its  dark  and  glossy  hair. 

For  a  tense  moment  there  was  silence  but  for  Anthony's 
loud  and  irregular  breathing;  when  at  last  he  spoke  his 
voice  sounded  wholly  unfamiliar: 


The  Opening  of  a  Door       379 

"  Damned  scoundrels  —  look  at  this !  My  wife's  scarf 
—  is  she  here?  By  God,  if  she  is,  I'll  find  her  if  I  have 
to  kill  you  one  by  one  and  wreck  this  hellish  place  — " 

"  Fellow  's  drunk ! "  suggested  some  one,  whereupon 
Anthony  cursed  them  one  and  all,  and  I  heard  the  sharp 
click  of  the  pistol  as  he  cocked  it,  but  I  restrained  him 
with  a  gesture : 

"Mr.  Trenchard,"  said  I,  "Mr.  Haredale  —  Devereux 
or  whatever  name  you  happen  to  be  using,  I  have  forced 
myself  upon  you  to-night  to  inform  you  that,  knowing 
you  at  last  for  the  foul  and  loathsome  thing  you  are,  I 
am  very  earnest  that  you  should  pollute  the  world  no 
longer.  Two  years  ago  you  struck  me  in  the  yard  behind 
the  Chequers  Inn,  at  Tonbridge;  I  call  upon  you  to  ac- 
count for  that  blow  to-night  —  here  and  now !  " 

"Let  any  man  stir  and  I  shoot  to  kill!"  said  An- 
thony between  shut  teeth;  his  heavy  tread  shook  the 
floor  behind  me,  then  he  had  swung  me  aside  and  fronted 
Devereux  the  pistol  in  his  hand,  face  convulsed  and  mur- 
der glaring  in  his  eyes. 

"  Trenchard,"  said  he  in  strange,  hissing  whisper, 
"  there  is  a  curtained  door  behind  you  —  whom  are  you 
hiding  in  there?  Trenchard,  I  am  yearning  to  kill  you 
and  kill  you  I  will,  so  help  me  God,  unless  you  draw  that 
curtain  and  open  that  door  —  d'  ye  hear  me?" 

Trenchard's  tall  form  seemed  to  stiffen,  his  mocking 
smile  vanished,  but  his  eyes  never  wavered. 

Anthony  levelled  the  pistol. 

"Trenchard,"  said  he  softly,  "I'll  count  three!" 

Then  Trenchard  laughed  lightly. 

"Egad,  sir,"  said  he  with  a  flourish,  "drunk  or  no, 
you  have  a  devilish  persuading  air  about  you.  Behold 
then,  and  judge  of  my  felicity!" 

Thus  speaking,  he  drew  aside  the  curtain  and  reached 
white  hand  towards  the  door  behind,  but  at  this  moment 
and  before  he  could  touch  it,  the  door  swung  open  and 
Diana  stepped  forth. 

"  Mr.  Vere-Manville,"  said  she,  her  soft  voice  calm  and 


380  Peregrine's  Progress 

even,  "pray  give  me  my  scarf,  your  wife  made  me  & 
present  of  it  days  ago ! "  And  she  reached  out  her  hand 
with  the  old,  imperious  gesture  that  I  remembered  so 
well.  So  Anthony  gave  her  the  handful  of  lace  and 
turned  his  back  upon  us. 

"  O  Perry  ! "  he  exclaimed  with  a  groan,  "  O  Perry, 
dear  friend  —  what  have  I  done!  God  forgive  me  — 

"  Heavens,  Anthony ! "  quoth  I.  "  Pray  why  distress 
yourself  upon  a  matter  so  trivial  —  besides,  I  knew  al- 
ready. And  now,  Mr.  Trenchard  or  Haredale  or  Dev- 
ereux,  if  this  lady  will  be  so  obliging  as  to  retire,  we 
can  settle  our  small  concern  very  comfortably  here  across 
the  table." 

"No,  Peregrine!"  said  Diana  in  the  same  even  tone. 

"Mr.  Trenchard — "  I  began. 

"  I  say  you  shall  not,  Peregrine ! "  said  she  softly. 

"Mr.  Haredale  —  "  quoth  I. 

"  O  Peregrine,'*  she  sighed,  "  suspicion  has  poisoned  your 
mind  against  me  or  you  would  never  stoop  to  doubt  me 
—  even  here — " 

"  Mr.  Devereux,"  said  I,  "  will  you  pray  have  the 
courtesy  to  desire  your  charming  friend  to  leave  us 
awhile  —  " 

"O  Peregrine!"  she  gasped,  and  though  I  never  so 
much  as  glanced  in  her  direction,  I  knew  she  had  shrunk 
farther  from  me.  "  Some  day,  oh,  some  day,  Peregrine, 
you  will  regret  this  bitterly  —  bitterly  —  "  Her  voice 
broke,  and  in  its  place  came  Devereux's  hateful  tones: 

"  *  My  charming  friend '  is  well  aware  that  her  society 
is  my  joy  and  delight,  nor  shall  I  cheat  myself  of  one 
moment  on  your  account,  sir,  whoever  you  chance  to  be." 

"  Why,  then,"  said  I,  laying  my  card  on  the  table, 
"the  lady's  presence  need  not  deter  us,  I  think.  Let 
us  be  done  with  the  affair  at  once." 

"  Absolutely  and  utterly  impossible,  sir ! "  he  answered, 
taking  up  my  card.  "  Since  you  desire  me  to  kill  you, 
I  will  do  so  with  a  perfect  pleasure,  but  at  my  own  time 
and  place  and  —  "  Here  he  paused  as  he  read  my  name, 


The  Opening  of  a  Door       381 

and  stood  a  moment  staring  down  at  the  pasteboard  with 
that  same  faint  pucker  of  the  brow ;  then  he  laughed  sud- 
denly and  tossed  my  card  to  Captain  Danby.  "  Odd, 
Tom ! "  said  he ;  then  turning  to  me,  "  Mr.  Vereker,  I  will 
meet  you  at  the  very  earliest  moment  —  shall  we  say 
five  o'clock  to-morrow  morning?  There  is  a  small  tavern 
called  '  The  Anchor '  a  few  miles  along  the  Maidstone 
road,  a  remote  spot  very  suitable  for  a  little  shooting. 
And  now,  sir,  pray  begone.  I  am  occupied,  as  you  see 
—  while  my  friends  pour  libations  to  Bacchus,  I  worship 
at  the  shrine  of  Venus." 

Here,  turning  very  ostentatiously,  he  bowed  to  Diana, 
viewing  her  with  look  so  evil  that  I  clenched  my  fists  and 
made  to  spring  at  him,  but  Anthony's  powerful  hand 
arrested  me: 

"  Come  away,  Perry,"  he  whispered,  "  you  can  do  no 
more  to-night.  Don't  show  'em  your  pain  —  pride,  man, 
pride!  Come  away,  old  fellow." 

So  I  suffered  him  to  lead  me  whither  he  would,  following 
the  impulse  of  his  guiding  arm  like  a  blind  man,  for  the 
shadow  had  closed  in  blacker  than  ever,  to  engulf  me  at 
last,  and  it  seemed  that  my  only  escape  from  this  horror 
was  to  grasp  the  kindly  hand  of  Death. 

Once  clear  of  this  accursed  house  I  was  seized  of  a 
great  disgust,  a  nausea  that  was  both  mental  and  physi- 
cal, and  I  groaned  aloud  in  my  extremity. 

"  O  God,  Anthony !    Oh,  my  God !  " 

At  this  he  clasped  me  in  his  arms  and  I  stood  awhile, 
shivering,  my  face  hidden  in  his  bosom. 

"  Dear  fellow !  "  he  muttered.  "  Women  are  the  devil. 
I  know  —  I  'm  married,  d'  ye  see !  " 

Faint  and  far  away  a  church  clock  struck  the  hour. 

"  What  time  was  that  ?  "  I  enquired. 

"  Eleven  o'clock,  Perry." 

"  Six  weary  hours  to  wait !  "  I  groaned. 

"  B'  gad,  yes  —  only  six  hours ! " 

"  Thank  God ! "  quoth  I  fervently,  and  so  we  went  on 
again,  arm  in  arm. 


382  Peregrine's  Progress 

"You  mean  to  kill  that  damned  fellow,  Peregrine?" 

"If  they  place  us  near  enough." 

"You  are  good  for  twelve  paces,  I  suppose?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"But  you  —  you  shoot  reasonably  well,  of  course?" 

"  Very  badly !  This  was  why  I  was  so  anxious  to  do 
my  shooting  across  a  table  —  " 

"  But  you  —  you  —  O  Lord,  Perry  —  you  are  familiar 
with  the  weapon  —  practised  at  the  galleries  occasion- 
ally?" 

"  I  have  shot  once  or  twice  at  a  target  to  please  my 
uncle  Jervas,  but  never  succeeded  in  hitting  it  that  I 
remember." 

"Oh,  damnation!" 

"  That  is  what  my  uncle  Jervas  said,  I  remember." 

"  But  then  —  why  how  —  oh,  man !  "  stammered  An- 
thony, viewing  me  in  wide-eyed  dismay,  "  how  in  the 
fiend's  name  d'  you  expect  to  hit  your  man?" 

"  I  don't  know,  Anthony  —  except,  as  I  say,  across  a 
table  or  a  handkerchief.  But  what  matter  ?  After  all, 
perhaps  it  is  —  yes  —  just  as  well  —  " 

"  Why,  then  't  will  be  rank  murder !  Ha,  by  heaven, 
Perry,  you  —  you  mean  to  let  the  fellow  murder  you  —  is 
this  it?  " 

"  I  mean  to  shoot  as  straight  as  I  can." 

"  It  will  be  murder ! "  he  cried  wildly,  and  then,  tossing 
up  his  long  arms  in  a  helpless,  distracted  manner,  he  cried, 
"  By  God,  Perry,  you  are  as  good  as  dead  already ! " 

"  Why,  then,"  said  I,  grasping  him  by  the  arm,  "  listen 
to  the  voice  of  a  dying  man  and  one  who  has  never  ac- 
complished anything  as  yet  —  indeed,  I  have  been  a  failure 
all  my  life— " 

"  You,  Perry?    A  failure  —  how,  man,  how?  " 

"  Well,  I  yearned  to  be  a  poet  —  and  failed.  I  tried 
to  be  a  painter  —  and  failed  again.  I  endeavoured  to 
become  a  man  and  have  achieved  nothing.  I  am  a  sentient 
futility!  But  to-night  —  ah,  to-night  kind  fortune  Bent 
me  —  you.  And  you  were  drunk  again ! " 


The  Opening  of  a  Door       383 

"  I  *m  sober  enough  now,  b'gad !  " 

"  Drunkenness,  Anthony,  as  you  know,  is  the  refuge 
for  cowards  and  weaklings,  and  all  unworthy  such  a  man 
as  Anthony  Vere-Manville  —  " 

"  Egad,  will  you  preach  at  me,  Perry  ?  " 

"  Call  it  so  if  you  will,  but  to-night  is  something  of  an 
occasion  and  here  is  a  setting  excellently  adapted  to  the 
sermon  of  a  dying  man." 

And  indeed  it  was  a  night  to  wonder  at,  very  still  and 
silent  and  filled  with  the  splendour  of  a  great  moon  whose 
peaceful  radiance  fell  upon  the  sleeping  countryside  like 
a  benediction. 

"  Look,"  said  I,  "  look  round  you,  Anthony,  upon  this 
wonder  of  earth  and  heaven!  Does  it  not  wake  in  you 
some  consciousness  of  divinity,  some  assured  hope  that 
we  in  our  nobler  selves  are  one  with  the  Infinite  Good?  " 

"Why,  to  be  sure,  now  you  mention  it,"  he  answered 
uneasily,  glancing  from  me  to  the  radiant  heaven  and 
back  again,  "it  is  a  very  glorious  night!" 

"  Yes ! "  said  I.  " '  In  such  a  night  stood  Dido  with  a 
willow  in  her  hand  upon  the  wide  sea  banks  and  wafted 
her  love  to  come  again  to  Carthage ! ' ' 

"  Eh?  "  exclaimed  Anthony,  peering  at  me  anxiously. 

"  *  In  such  a  night  Medea  gathered  the  enchanted  herbs,' 
—  and  in  such  a  night  your  friend,  who  may  never  see 
another  —  takes  occasion  to  ask  a  promise  of  you." 

"What  is  it,  Perry?" 

"  That  henceforth  you  will  be  drunk  no  more.  Give 
me  your  word  for  this,  Anthony,  and  come  what  will,  I 
shall  not  have  lived  in  vain." 

"  Why,  Peregrine,"  he  mumbled,  "  dear  fellow  —  not 
quite  yourself  —  very  natural  —  quite  understand  —  " 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  have  never  been  so  truly  myself  as 
now,  Anthony.  Grant  me  this  and  —  if  death  find  me 
to-morrow  morning,  I  shall  indeed  have  accomplished  some- 
thing worthy  at  last.  So,  Anthony  —  promise  me ! " 

For  a  moment  he  stood  very  still,  gazing  up  at  the 
moon,  then,  all  in  a  moment,  had  caught  my  hand  to 


384  Peregrine's  Progress 

wring  it  hard;  but  the  pain  of  his  grip  was  a  joy  and 
the  look  on  his  face  a  comfort  beyond  words. 

"I  —  I  swear  it!"  said  he  between  quivering  lips. 
"  God's  love,  man,  I  'd  promise  you  anything  to-night ! 
And  now  —  laugh,  man,  laugh  —  oh,  dammit !  "  Here  he 
choked  and  was  silent  awhile. 

"Where  are  you  taking  me,  Anthony?  I  cannot  re- 
turn to  the  *  Soaring  Lark.' ' 

"  Of  course  not.  You  're  coming  with  me  to  *  The 
Bear '  at  Hadlow.  I  have  a  room  there.  And  you  '11 
promise  to  be  guided  by  me  until  this  —  this  cursed  affair 
is  over — place  yourself  and  the  affair  in  my  hands, 
Perry?" 

"Most  thankfully." 

"  Then  I  stipulate  for  supper  and  bed  as  soon  as 
possible." 

"Very  well,  Anthony  —  though  I  ought  to  draw  up 
some  sort  of  a  will  first,  oughtn't  I?  " 

"Yes,  it  is  customary,  dear  fellow." 

"There's  my  Wildfire,  I'll  leave  him  to  you  —  if 
you  '11  have  him." 

"Of  course — and  thank  you,  Perry." 

"You'll  soon  grow  to  love  the  rascal  in  spite  of  his 
mischievous  tricks  —  " 

"  I  hope  to  heaven  I  never  have  the  chance  —  oh,  curse 
and  confound  it  —  don't  be  so  devilish  calm  and  assured. 
You  —  you  talk  as  if  you  were  going  out  to  your  execu- 
tion!" 

"  No,  no,  Anthony,"  I  answered,  slipping  my  hand 
within  his  arm,  "  let  us  rather  say  —  to  my  triumph." 


CHAPTER  X 

TELLS  HOW  A  MYSTERY  WAS  RESOLVED 

I  OPENED  my  eyes  on  a  bleak  dawn  full  of  a  pallid,  stealthy 
mist,  to  find  myself  cramped  in  my  chair  before  the  open 
lattice  and  with  Anthony  bending  over  me,  his  comely 
features  haggard  in  the  sickly  light. 

"  Ha,  you  did  n't  go  to  bed  then  ?  " 

"  Evidently  not !  "  I  answered,  shivering.  "  But  I 
slept  —  " 

"  Well,  I  did  —  and  never  a  wink,  confound  it !  And 
here's  you  basking  before  an  open  window — and  on  such 
a  perfectly  damned  morning  —  have  you  ill  again !  "  and, 
shivering  in  his  turn,  he  proceeded  to  close  the  lattice  and 
light  the  candles. 

"  Pray  what  o'clock  is  it,  Anthony  ?  " 

"A  quarter  to  four.  I  have  ordered  a  chaise  to  be 
ready  in  half  an  hour;  seems  this  *  Anchor'  Inn  is  some 
eight  miles  away  —  and  better  be  a  little  early  than  late." 

After  a  somewhat  hasty  toilet,  during  which  Anthony 
contrived  to  cut  himself,  we  descended  to  find  a  goodly 
breakfast  and  a  cheerful  fire;  but  scarcely  were  we  at 
table  than  Anthony  tugged  at  the  belt  rope. 

"  Good  morrow  to  thee,  Thomas ! "  quoth  he  to  the 
portly  and  somnolent  landlord  who  responded  to  the 
summons.  "  Chaise  will  be  round  soon,  I  hope?  " 

"  Whenever  ye  do  so  wish,  Mr.  Anthony,  sir." 

"  Excellent !  Then  pray,  Tom,  take  hence  this  stuff ! " 
And  he  pointed  to  a  bottle  at  his  elbow. 

"  Stuff,  sir !  Oh,  Mr.  Anthony  —  stuff?  "  exclaimed  the 
landlord  in  sorrowful  reproach,  his  somnolence  forgotten 
in  surprise.  "It  be  brandy,  sir — best  French  —  your 
very  own  particular  —  " 

"  Aye,  Tom,  I  know  it  is,  and  begad,  I  'm  lusting  for  a 
mouthful  —  that's  why  I  bid  you  take  it  away  —  drink 


386  Peregrine's  Progress 

coffee  instead,  confound  it !  So  hence  with  it,  Thomas  — • 
away ! " 

Very  round  of  eye,  the  landlord  took  up  the  bottle  and 
wandered  off  with  it  like  one  in  a  dream. 

Anthony  gulped  his  coffee,  but,  though  the  fare  was  ex- 
cellent, ate  little,  fidgeted  with  his  stock,  shuffled  in  his 
chair,  glanced  frequently  and  stealthily  at  his  watch  and, 
in  fine,  discovered  all  those  symptoms  that  indicated  an 
extreme  perturbation  of  mind. 

"Devil  take  it,  Perry  —  how  you  eat!"  he  exclaimed 
at  last. 

"  The  ham  is  delicious,  Anthony  —  " 

"  Dooced  stuff  would  choke  me !  Oh,  by  heaven,  I  'd 
give  anything  —  everything,  to  take  your  place  for  the 
next  hour!" 

"  But  then,  Anthony,  it  would  probably  be  I  who  could 
not  eat!" 

"  Tush,  man,  I  '11  hit  you  the  ace  of  spades  six  times 
out  of  seven  at  twelve  paces!  Four  o'clock,  by  heaven! 
I  wonder  if  that  confounded  chaise  will  be  ready  yet ! " 
And  up  he  sprang  and  hasted  away  into  the  yard  and  al- 
most immediately  came  hurrying  back  to  tell  me  the 
vehicle  was  at  the  door. 

Outside  the  mist  seemed  thick  as  ever,  though  the  east 
was  brightening  to  day ;  so  I  entered  the  chaise,  followed 
by  Anthony  growling  disgust,  the  door  slammed,  and 
through  the  open  window  came  the  round  head  of  Tom 
the  landlord  to  bob  at  us  in  turn. 

"  'T  will  grow  finer  mayhap  by  an'  by,  sirs,"  quoth  he, 
"hows'ever,  good  luck  an'  good  fortun'  to  ye,  gentlemen 
;  —  all  right,  Peter!"  he  called  to  the  postillion.  Where- 
upon a  whip  cracked,  the  chaise  lurched  forward  and  land- 
lord and  inn  vanished  in  the  swirling  mist. 

For  a  while  we  rode  without  talking,  Anthony  scowling 

out  of  his  window,  I  staring  out  of  mine  at  an  eddying 

haze  which,  thinning  out  ever  and   anon,  showed  vague 

shapes  that  peeped  forth  only  to  be  lost  again,  spectral 

I  trees,  barns  and  ricks,  looming  unearthly  in  the  half-light. 


How  a  Mystery  Was  Resolved  387 

"  Perry,  you  —  you  are  confoundedly  silent !  " 

"You  are  not  particularly  loquacious  either,'*  I  re- 
torted, supping  my  hand  within  his  arm. 

"  Why,  no  —  no,  b'gad  —  I  'm  not,  Perry.  But  then, 
it 's  such  a  peculiarly  damnable  morning,  d'ye  see." 

"  Well,  it  will  mayhap  grow  finer  later  on,  remember." 

"  Hope  to  heaven  it  does !  " 

"  It  would  make  things  —  a  little  pleasanter,  Anthony." 

"  Peregrine,  if  —  should  anything  —  anything — er  — 
dooced  happen  to  you,  I'll  —  aye,  by  God,  I'll  fight  the 
fellow  myself." 

"I  beg  you  will  do  no  such  thing  —  I  implore  you, 
Anthony." 

"  Oh  ?    Damme  and  why  not  ?  " 

"For  the  sake  of  Barbara  —  your  Loveliness  —  your 
future  happiness  —  " 

"  Tush,  man !  "  he  exclaimed  bitterly.  "  That  dream  is 
over ! " 

"  And  I  tell  you  Happiness  is  awaiting  you  —  will  come 
seeking  you  very  soon,  I  feel  sure." 

"  How  should  you  know  this  ?  " 

"  You  may  have  heard,  Anthony,  that  people  in  such  a 
position  as  mine  —  people  who  are  facing  the  possibility 
of  speedy  dissolution,  are  sometimes  gifted  with  a  clearer 
vision  —  an  intuition  —  call  it  what  you  will.  However, 
I  repeat  my  assurance  that  Happiness  is  awaiting  you, 
coming  to  you  with  arms  outstretched,  if  you  will  but 
have  faith  and  patience  —  a  happiness  greater,  fuller, 
richer  than  you  have  ever  known." 

At  this,  he  turned  to  scowl  out  of  the  window  again  and 
I  out  of  mine,  and  thus  we  came  to  an  end  of  the  rutted 
by-lanes  we  had  been  traversing  and  turned  into  the 
smoother  going  of  the  main  road. 

We  had  gone  but  a  mile,  as  I  judge,  when,  borne  to  our 
ears  came  the  faint,  rhythmic  beat  of  fast-galloping  hoofs 
growing  momentarily  louder. 

"Someone  in  the  devil's  own  hurry!"  exclaimed  An- 
thony, letting  down  his  window.  "  No  man  would  gallop 


388  Peregrine's  Progress 

his  horse  so  without  reason!  Hark  —  hark,  he  must  be 
riding  like  a  madman  —  and  in  this  fog!  What  the  devil? 
Nobody  to  lay  us  by  the  heels  —  eh,  Perry  ?  " 

"  God  forbid ! "  I  exclaimed  fervently,  as  Anthony 
leaned  from  the  window. 

*'  Nothing  to  see  —  mist  too  thick ! "  said  he.  "  But 
road's  dooced  narrow  hereabouts,  yet  hark  —  hark  how 
the  fellow  rides ! "  And  indeed  it  seemed  to  me  that  there 
was  something  terrible  in  the  relentless  beat  of  these 
wildly  galloping  hoofs  that  were  coming  up  with  us  so 
rapidly.  Anthony  was  peering  from  the  window  again; 
I  heard  him  shout,  felt  the  chaise  swing  jolting  towards 
the  hedge  and  the  horseman  was  by  —  a  blurred  vision 
that  flashed  upon  my  sight  and  was  gone. 

"Missed  by  inches  —  dooced  reckless,  by  Gad!"  ex- 
claimed Anthony,  and  I  saw  that  his  frown  had  vanished. 

*'  What  kind  of  a  person  was  he?  "  I  demanded. 

"  Muffled  up  to  the  ears,  Perry,  hat  over  his  eyes  —  big 
horse — powerful  beast.  Going  to  clear  up  and  be  a  fine 
day  after  all,  I  fancy." 

"  And  it  is  nearly  five  o'clock ! "  said  I,  glancing  at  my 
watch. 

"  Hum  !  "  sighed  Anthony.  "  And  here  you  sit  as  se- 
renely untroubled,  as  placidly  assured,  as  if  you  were  the 
best  shot  in  the  world  instead  of  the  worst." 

"  Listen,  Anthony !  "  I  cried  suddenly.  "  Do  you  hear 
anything — listen,  man!"  A  faint  throbbing  upon  the 
air,  a  pulsing  beat  growing  louder  and  louder.  "  Do  you 
hear  it,  Anthony,  do  you  hear  it?  " 

"No  —  yes — begad,  Perry,  it  sounds  like  —  " 

"  Another  horse  at  full  gallop,  Anthony  —  and  coming 
up  behind  us.  Another  horseman  —  from  the  same  di- 
rection ! " 

"  Dev'lish  strange,  Perry.    How  many  more  of  'em  ?  " 

"  There  will  be  no  more ! "  I  exclaimed  bitterly,  and 
then,  the  chaise  beginning  to  slow  up,  I  thrust  my  head 
from  the  window  to  demand  why  we  were  stopping. 

"Turnpike,  sir!"  answered  the  postboy.     And  peering 


How  a  Mystery  Was  Resolved  389 

through  the  haze  before  us  I  saw  the  tollgate,  sure  enough, 
and  I  turned  to  stare  back  down  the  road  towards  the 
second  hard-riding  horseman,  and  presently  beheld  a 
vague  blur  that  resolved  itself  into  a  rapidly  oncoming 
shape  that  swept  down  upon  us  through  the  swirling  mist ; 
the  flutter  of  a  long  cloak,  a  spurred  boot,  a  shadowy 
form  bowed  low  in  the  saddle  —  all  this  I  saw  in  one  brief 
moment;  then  rose  a  hoarse  shout  from  the  eddying  mist 
ahead;  the  jingle  of  flung  coins  and,  lifting  his  animal  at 
the  tollgate,  the  horseman  cleared  it  at  a  bound  and, 
plunging  into  the  haze  beyond,  had  vanished  like  a 
phantom. 

And  now  I  was  seized  with  a  passion  of  haste  and  began 
to  shout  fevered  orders  at  our  postboy. 

"  Hurry  —  hurry !  A  guinea  —  ten  guineas  for  your 
best  speed!  Drive,  man,  drive  like  the  devil.  Whip  — 
spur ! " 

I  remember  tossing  money  to  a  hoarse-voiced  toll-keeper 
in  a  fur  cap,  and  we  were  off  in  full  career,  the  light  chaise 
rocking  and  swaying.  I  remember  Anthony's  look  of  sur- 
prise and  my  answering  his  half-hearted  questions  at  ran- 
dom or  not  at  all,  for  now  I  rode,  my  head  out-thrust  from 
the  window,  hearkening  for  the  sound  of  galloping  hoofs 
ahead  of  us. 

And  so  at  last,  after  an  eternity  as  it  seemed,  the  chaise 
slowed  again  and  came  to  an  abrupt  standstill  before  a 
dimly-seen  building  and,  peering  out,  I  made  out  the  sign : 

THE  ANCHOR  INN. 

Next  moment  I  had  sprung  out  into  the  road  and,  not 
waiting  for  Anthony,  hastened  into  the  place,  opened  a 
door  at  random,  and  found  myself  in  a  small  room  where 
smoked  a  miserable  fire  over  which  lounged  two  languid 
gentlemen  well  coated  and  muffled  against  the  chill  of 
dawn. 

"  Sirs,"  said  I,  acknowledging  their  bows,  "  pray  have 
you  seen  two  horsemen  pass  lately  ?  " 

"Horsemen,  sir?"  repeated  a  dashing  gentleman  who 


390  Peregrine's  Progress 

seemed  all  whiskers,  teeth  and  greatcoat.  "  'Pon  my 
honour,  no  —  stop  a  bit  — yes,  I  did !  They  rode  towards 
Maidstone,  I  fancy,  sir." 

"  Did  they  stop  to  make  any  enquiries  —  either  of 
them?" 

"  Stop,  sir?  No,  sir  —  devil  a  bit!  "  answered  the  gen- 
tleman, flashing  his  teeth  and  shaking  his  whiskers  to  such 
a  degree  that  I  doubted  him  on  the  spot.  At  this  moment 
Anthony  appeared,  whereupon  ensued  more  polite  bows 
and  flourishes ;  and  now  the  other  gentleman  addressed  us, 
a  plethoric,  red-faced  man  in  a  furred,  blue  frock. 

"  Our  friend  Trenchard  desired  us  to  await  you,  gentle- 
men, to  inform  you  that  he  has  changed  the  ground.  The 
—  the  —  ah  —  affair  will  not  take  place  behind  the  inn 
here  as  first  intended,  but  in  a  place  somewhat  more  se- 
cluded. If  you  will  pray  have  the  goodness  to  accompany 
us,  we  will  —  ah — show  you  the  way." 

So  we  set  out  accordingly,  I,  for  one,  little  heeding  or 
caring  whither  we  went. 

Now  it  chanced  we  came  to  a  narrow  way  where  but  two 
might  go  abreast  and  I  found  myself  walking  beside  the 
whiskered  gentleman  who  prattled  to  me  very  pleasantly, 
I  believe,  though  of  what  I  cannot  recall.  After  a  while 
the  path  brought  us  to  a  rough  track  hard  beside  a  little 
wood  and  here  stood  a  roomy  travelling-chaise  and  beside 
this  the  man  Trenchard  or  Devereux,  talking  and  laughing 
with  Captain  Danby  and  another. 

I  remember  returning  their  salutes  with  a  perfunctory 
bow,  but  recollect  little  else,  for  now  that  my  time  was  so 
near,  a  numbness  seemed  to  cloud  my  brain  and  I  could 
think  only  that  this  little  copse,  full  of  the  grey  mist  of 
dawn,  was  perhaps  the  last  object  my  eyes  should  ever 
see. 

"I  told  one  of  'em,"  said  Anthony  in  my  ear,  "fellow 
in  blue  frock  yonder,  that  you  were  the  dooce  an'  all  with 
a  hair  trigger  —  almost  as  dead  a  shot  as  your  uncle 
Jervas  or  Gronow  of  the  Guards,  and  begad,  it 's  set  'em 
all  by  the  ears,  Perry,  especially  that  scoundrel  Danby." 


How  a  Mystery  Was  Resolved  391 

At  this  I  laughed,  I  think,  wondering  the  while  if  An- 
thony would  ever  know  how  much  I  loved  and  admired  him. 

I  remember  a  stretch  of  green  turf  screened  by  trees ; 
a  solemn  pacing  to  and  fro  by  various  grave-faced  per- 
sons; a  careful  measuring  of  distances  and  selection  of 
ground. 

I  remember  some  obj  ection  that  Anthony  made  as  to  the 
light,  whereupon  the  solemn  measuring  and  pacing  was 
gravely  done  all  over  again.  I  also  recall  that  Anthony, 
while  discussing  or  overseeing  these  grave  proceedings, 
would  often  lift  his  head  and  glance  hastily  round  about 
with  a  swift,  keen-eyed  expectancy. 

I  remember  the  sun  peeping  forth  at  last  to  make  the 
world  glorious  and  warm  the  chill  in  my  bones. 

And  then  Anthony  came  towards  me,  carrying  a  pistol, 
and  I  noticed  that  his  hand  shook  as  he  offered  it  to  me. 

"  God  love  you,  Perry,"  he  said,  a  little  huskily.  "  You 
look  as  unconcerned,  as  cool  as  —  as  a  confounded  cu- 
cumber !  And  now,  Perry,  remember  to  aim  low,  all  pistols 
are  apt  to  throw  high  —  so,  for  heaven's  sake  aim  low,  old 
fellow." 

"  Do  I  stand  here,  Anthony?  " 

"Yes  —  damned  fellow  insists  on  twelve  paces!"  said 
he,  his  voice  sounding  hoarser  than  ever,  and  I  saw  his 
glance  wandering  again,  here  and  there,  to  and  fro,  in  al- 
most desperate  fashion. 

"  Mr.  Vere-Manville,"  called  Devereux's  second,  "  may  I 
trouble  you  a  moment,  pray?" 

Left  alone,  I  stood  watching  the  play  of  sunshine  amid 
the  leaves,  when  I  was  roused  by  a  touch  and  found  Cap- 
tain Danby  beside  me. 

"Your  flint  looks  a  trifle  loose,  sir,"  said  he  softly. 
"Suffer  me!" 

I  relinquished  the  weapon  with  a  murmur  of  thanks  and 
stood  again  absorbed  until  I  felt  the  pistol  thrust  into  my 
grasp  and  heard  a  loud  voice  speaking. 

"  Pray  attention,  gentlemen !  Take  notice,  the  word 
will  be  '  one  —  two  — '  " 


392  Peregrine's  Progress 

The  loud  voice  faltered  suddenly,  was  lost  in  the  tram- 
pling of  horse's  hoofs  and  into  the  grassy  level  between 
Devereux  and  myself  rode  my  uncle  Jervas  with  my  uncle 
George  close  behind. 

My  uncle  Jervas  reined  in  his  horse  and  sat  glancing 
serenely  round  about  him,  his  lips  curling  in  his  bleak, 
sardonic  smile,  his  prominent  chin  something  more  aggres- 
sive than  usual. 

"Ah,  gentlemen,"  said  he  gently.  "Your  humble  ser- 
vant, I  bid  you  good  morning.  Sir  Geoffrey  Devereux, 
we  are  very  well  met  —  at  last.  This  is  a  pleasure  I 
much  desired  when —  we  were  younger,  as  you  will  doubt- 
less remember,  but  I  imagined,  until  very  recently,  that 
you  were  dead,  sir,  and  damned,  and  necessarily  out  of 
my  reach.  You  have  hidden  yourself  surpassingly  well, 
sir." 

Very  deliberately  my  uncle  Jervas  dismounted  and  pro- 
ceeded to  tether  his  horse  to  an  adjacent  tree,  while 
Devereux  watched  him,  head  bowed  and  black  brows  puck- 
ered slightly  above  his  smouldering  eyes,  his  snowy  cravat 
stained  with  a  small  mark  of  blood  from  an  ugly  scratch 
beneath  his  chin  and  which,  despite  his  icy  assurance 
seemed  to  worry  him,  for  he  dabbed  at  it  now  and  then 
with  his  handkerchief.  And  now  my  uncle  Jervas  ap- 
proached me,  his  hand  outstretched  imperiously,  but  when 
he  spoke  his  voice  was  strangely  gentle : 

"  Peregrine,  dear  boy,  oblige  me  with  that  pistol." 

"  God  bless  you,  Uncle  Jervas  !  "  said  I  fervently  grasp- 
ing that  hand.  "  I  thought  I  recognised  you  when  your 
horse  leapt  that  tollgate,  but  fate  elected  I  should  arrive 
here  first,  as  I  prayed." 

"We  were  wilfully  misdirected  and  went  astray.  And 
now,  Peregrine,  give  me  the  pistol ! " 

"  No,  sir !  Indeed  you  cannot,  shall  not  take  my  place. 
This  quarrel  is  wholly  mine  —  a  quarrel,  sir,  of  two  years' 
standing  —  " 

"  But  mine,  Peregrine,  is  of  twenty-one  years'." 

"  None  the  less,  sir,  you  shall  not  shield  me  thus  —  none 


How  a  Mystery  Was  Resolved  393 

other  shall  take  my  place,  I  am  here  to  meet  that  scoundrel 
jonder — " 

"Ah,  Peregrine,"  said  my  uncle,  speaking  very  slowly 
and  distinctly,  "  the  scoundrel  yonder,  Sir  Geoffrey  Deve- 
reux, is  the  man  who  foully  murdered  your  father  and  my 
brother !  Give  me  the  pistol,  boy !  " 

As  he  spoke  he  grasped  my  wrist  and  had  possessed 
himself  of  the  weapon  or  ever  I  could  prevent.  Then  he 
turned  and  faced  Devereux,  his  eyes  very  keen  and  bright. 

"  George,"  said  he  in  his  quiet,  authoritative  voice, 
"  pray  give  us  the  word." 

My  uncle  George,  still  sitting  his  horse,  lifted  his  right 
hand  and  I  saw  that  he  also  held  a  pistol. 

"  Devereux,"  said  he,  his  handsome  face  very  fierce  and 
grim,  "  if  —  this  time — you  fire  before  the  word,  even  by 
one  fraction  of  a  second,  I  shoot  you  where  you  stand  for 
the  vile  murderer  you  are  —  by  God,  I  will!  Now  mark 
me !  The  word  will  be  *  One  —  two  —  three  —  fire ! '  Is 
this  understood  ?  " 

"  Yes,  George ! "  said  my  uncle ;  Devereux  nodded. 

"Ready!"  said  uncle  George  distinctly.  "One  —  two 
—  three  —  fire ! " 

A  single  sharp  report  and  my  uncle  Jervas,  lurching 
slightly,  stared  down  at  his  weapon  that  had  merely 
sparked  and,  letting  it  fall,  staggered  aside  to  a  tree  and 
leaned  there. 

In  an  instant  uncle  George  was  off  his  horse  and  to- 
gether we  ran  to  him. 

"Aha,  George  — "  he  gasped  in  a  horrible,  wheeaing 
roice,  "  it  —  it  was  unprimed  —  lend  me  —  yours !  " 

"  O  God !  "  groaned  my  uncle  George.  "  You  're  hit, 
Jervas  —  are  you  hurt?  " 

"  A  little,  George —  your  pistol  —  quick ! " 

But  even  as  he  spoke  and  despite  all  his  resolution  and 
indomitable  will,  he  seemed  about  to  swoon;  I  saw  his 
knees  slowly  bending  under  him,  his  stately  head  sank,  and 
crying  out  in  horror,  I  reached  out  to  clasp  him  in  my 
arms. 


394  Peregrine's  Progress 

"  No,  no,  Perry !  "  he  gasped.    "  Don't  touch  me  —  jet 

—  I  have  sufficient  strength  —  dear  boy."    For  a  moment 
he  closed  his  eyes  and  when  next  he  spoke  his  voice  was 
strangely  loud  and  clear. 

"  Devereux,  if  ever  you  prayed  —  pray  now !  "  Yet  as 
he  uttered  these  words,  he  sank  to  his  knees  and  leaned 
feebly  against  the  tree,  his  pallid  face  suddenly  contorted 
by  a  dreadful  spasm,  so  that  I  could  scarcely  bear  to  look. 
Then,  sweating  with  the  agonising  effort,  slowly  —  slowly 

—  he  raised  his  arm,  dwelt  a  moment  on  his  aim,  and  fired; 
the  smoking  weapon  dropped  from  his  lax  fingers  and, 
swaying    sideways,    he    sank   down,   his    face    among   the 
grass. 

I  remember  my  uncle  George  running  to  aid  me  lift  this 
heavy  head;  and  glancing  from  these  dreadfully  pallid 
features,  the  pitiful  helplessness  of  this  once  strong  form, 
I  saw  a  group  of  pale-faced  men  who  knelt  and  crouched 
above  a  twisted  thing  that  had  once  answered  to  the  name 
of  Devereux. 

"  Dead,  George  ?  "  questioned  my  uncle  Jervas  faintly. 

"  Dead,  Jervas ! " 

"The  right  eye,  George  — I  think?" 

"  Yes,  Jervas.     How  is  it  with  you,  dear  old  fellow?" 

"  Very  well  —  I  'm  going  on  —  ahead  of  you,  George. 
Don't  —  don't  grieve,  George  —  't  is  none  so  terrible. 
And  the  great  conundrum  is  answered,  the  mystery  is 
solved,  George  —  I  mean —  our  Julia —  she  will  —  marry 
you,  George,  after  all  —  I  think  she  always  loved  you  — 
best.  God  bless  you  —  both !  And  Peregrine  —  my  dear 
lad  —  your  gipsy — a  strong — angel  of  God — Diana — " 
and  with  this  word  his  noble  spirit  passed. 

And  thus  even  death  was  denied  me  and  I,  it  seemed,  was 
Boomed  to  be  no  more  than  an  idle  spectator. 

I  remember  helping  to  bear  him  back  to  the  "  Anchor  " 
Inn — laying  him  reverently  upon  a  settle.  And  then, 
because  I  could  not  bear  to  see  him  so  pale  and  still  and 
silent,  I  covered  him  with  my  cloak. 

I  remember  the  tears  wet  upon  Anthony's  haggard  face 


How  a  Mystery  Was  Resolved  395] 

and  my  uncle  George  crouched  in  a  chair,  clenched  fists 
beneath  square  chin,  staring  wide-eyed  on  vacancy. 

"  Dead !  "  he  exclaimed  in  an  agonised  half-whisper.  "  I 
mean  to  say  he 's  dead,  d'  ye  see.  Jervas  —  dead  —  seems 
so  impossible !  If  it  could  only  have  been  me — it  would  n't 
ha'  mattered  so  much,  d'  ye  see.  There  never  was  any  one 
like  old  Jervas.  And  now  he 's  —  dead,  my  God  1 "  The 
agonised  whispering  ceased  and  silence  fell  that  was  al- 
most as  terrible.  But  suddenly  upon  this  awful  hush 
broke  a  sound  of  wheels  —  quick  footsteps ;  then  the  door 
swung  open  and  Diana  stood  upon  the  threshold. 

"  Peregrine ! "  she  cried.    "  Oh,  praise  God  you  are  alive 

—  Peregrine  —  speak  to  me !    Ah  —  dear  God  in  heaven ! 
What  is  it?  "     And  hasting  to  me,  she  caught  my  hand, 
clasping  it  to  her  bosom.     "Oh,  what  is  it,  Peregrine?" 
she  whispered. 

So  I  brought  her  to  the  settle,  and  reverently  turning 
back  my  cloak,  showed  her  what  it  had  hidden. 

"  This  !  "  said  I.    "  Look  upon  your  handiwork  and  go 

—  wanton ! " 

Uttering  a  soft,  inarticulate  cry,  she  cowered  away, 
shrank  back  and  back  across  the  room  and  out  into  the 
road  beyond. 

Then,  treading  as  softly  as  I  might,  I  crossed  the  room 
also  and,  closing  the  door  very  silently,  locked  and  barred 
it  securely. 


CHAPTER  XI 

WinCH    SHOWS    THAT    MT    UNCLE    JEEVAS    WAS    EIGHT, 
AFTEE  ALL 

A  FORTNIGHT  has  elapsed  and  I  sit  here  in  my  study  at 
Merivale,  idly  adding  these  words  to  this  book  of  mine 
which  it  seems  is  never  destined  to  be  finished.  As  my 
pen  traces  these  words,  I  am  conscious  of  the  door  open- 
ing softly,  but,  pretending  absorption  in  my  task,  I  never 
so  much  as  lift  my  head  but  glance  up  surreptitiously  to 
behold  my  aunt  Julia,  a  little  pale,  her  proud,  full-lipped 
mouth  not  quite  so  firm  as  of  old,  but  handsomer,  lovelier 
than  ever  in  her  black  gown,  it  seems  to  me. 

"  O  Peregrine,  do  you  really  mean  to  go  ?  " 

"I  do!" 

"  Ah,  will  you  run  away  again,  from  us  —  from  your 
duties — will  you  leave  Diana  to  break  her  heart?" 

"  Can  hearts  break,  dear  Aunt  ?  " 

"  Oh,  poor  Diana,  poor  child  —  after  all  she  has  done 
for  you  —  " 

"  Indeed,  Aunt,  she  has  done  a  great  deal  for  me,  I 
admit  —  but  —  " 

"  You  know  how  she  came  in  the  dead  of  night  to  warn 
your  uncles  of  your  peril  —  your  mad  folly?  You  know 
this?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  dear  Aunt,"  said  I,  a  little  impatiently.  u  I 
know,  too,  how  my  noble  uncles  very  nearly  quarrelled  as 
to  which  of  them  should  risk  his  life  for  unworthy,  mis- 
erable me  —  " 

"  It  was  George  rode  away  first  that  dreadful  morn- 
ing," said  my  aunt,  clasping  her  shapely  hands,  "and  I 
shall  never  forget  the  look  on  the  face  of  Jervas  when 
he   found   that   George  had  stolen  away   before  him  — 
poor,  brave  Jervas!" 


My  Uncle  Jervas  Was  Right  397 

**  Yes,  Aunt !  If  the  place  of  meeting  had  not  been  al- 
tered —  it  would  have  been  —  uncle  George,  perhaps." 

"  Ah,  yes ! "  sighed  ray  aunt,  shuddering  and  bowing  pale 
face  above  her  clasped  hands.  "  But  Diana  —  saved  you, 
Peregrine." 

"At  least,  Aunt,  she  caused  a  better  man  to  die  in! 
my  stead.  As  he  is  to-day,  I  would  be  —  at  rest ! " 

"  Hush,  oh,  hush,  Peregrine,  you  talk  wildly !    Indeed, 

sometimes  I  think  you  have  never  been  quite  the  same 

since  your  illness,  you  are  so  much  colder — less  kind 

i  and  gentle.  And  now  you  mean  to  go  away  again !    What 

of  the  estate  —  your  tenants  ?  " 

"  Surely  I  cannot  leave  them  in  better,  more  capable 
hands  than  these,  dear  Aunt  Julia ! "  and  stooping,  I 
kissed  her  slim,  white  fingers.  "But  go  I  must  —  I  can- 
not bear  a  house;  I  want  space  —  the  open  road,  woods, 
the  sweet,  clean  wind ! " 

"  Where  shall  you  go,  Peregrine?  " 

"Anywhere  —  though  first  to  London.** 

"  And  what  of  your  book?  " 

"  I  shall  never  finish  it,  now ! " 

"And  what  of  me?  Will  you  leave  me  lonely?  O 
Peregrine,  can  you  leave  me  thus  in  my  sorrow?" 

"Hush,  dear  Aunt  —  listen!" 

Through  the  open  casement  stole  a  soft,  small  sound 
—  a  jingle  of  spurs,  the  monotonous  tramp  of  one  who 
paced  solitary  upon  the  terrace  below. 

"Your  uncle  George!  "  she  breathed,  her  hands  clasped 
themselves  anew  and  into  her  pale  cheeks  crept  a  tinge  of 
warm  colour.  "  I  did  not  expect  —  your  uncle  George  to- 
day!" 

"He  is  lonely  too,  Aunt  Julia.  He  does  nothing  but 
grieve !  Indeed  I  think  he  is  breaking  his  great  generous 
heart  for  the  brother  he  loved  and  honoured  so  devotedly." 

"Poor  —  poor  George!" 

"  Being  a  man  of  action,  uncle  George  was  never  much 
of  a  talker,  as  you  know — but  he  is  more  silent  than 
erer  these  days.  In  London  he  would  sit  all  day  long  in 


398  Peregrine's  Progress 

a  dreadful  apathy,  and  all  night  long  I  would  hear  him 
go  tramping,  tramping  to  and  fro  in  his  chamber  —  " 

"  O  Perry  dear  —  if  he  could  only  weep ! " 

"Aunt  Julia,  there  is  but  one  power  on  earth  could 
bestow  on  him  such  blessed  relief,  and  that  is  your  love, 
the  certain  assurance  that  you  do  love  him  —  the  touch 
of  your  lips  —  " 

"O  Peregrine  —  oh,  hush!  Do  you  mean  —  "  and  my 
goddess-like  aunt  faltered  and  sat  there,  lovely  eyes  down- 
cast, blushing  like  the  merest  girl. 

"  Yes,  you  beautiful  Aunt,"  said  I,  "  this  is  what  I 
mean  —  this  whose  simple  mention  has  turned  you  into 
a  girl  of  sixteen,  this  wonderful  truth  that  uncle  Jervas 
had  divined  already."  And  I  told  her  of  his  dying  words : 
"'You  will  marry  her  after  all,  George  —  our  Julia.  I 
see  now  that  she  always  loved  you  best ! ' ' 

"  Oh,  dear  Jervas ! "  she  murmured. 

"  He  has  left  uncle  George  who  loved  him  so  greatly, 
very  solitary  —  listen,  dear  Aunt !  " 

Up  to  us  through  the  open  lattice,  borne  upon  the 
fragrant  air,  came  that  small,  soft  sound  where  my  uncle 
George  paced  ceaselessly  to  and  fro  amid  the  gathering 
dusk. 

"  Poor  George ! "  she  whispered  tenderly. 

"He  is  so — utterly  forlorn,  Aunt." 

"  Dear  George !  " 

"  And  so  very  much  a  man,  Aunt ! " 

"  And  such  a  child ! "  she  murmured.  "  So  big  and 
strong  and  such  a  helpless  baby  !  Dear  George !  " 

Here  I  turned  to  my  writing  again,  heard  the  door 
close  softly  and,  glancing  up,  found  myself  alone.  Then, 
tossing  down  my  pen,  I  arose  and  from  a  cupboard  reached 
forth  a  hat  and  well-filled  knapsack  which  last  I  proceeded 
to  buckle  to  my  shoulders ;  this  done,  I  took  a  stout  stick 
from  a  corner  and  stood  ready  for  my  wanderings.  Thus 
equipped,  I  crossed  to  the  window  that  I  might  see  if  the 
coast  was  clear,  since  I  meant  to  steal  away  with  no 
chance  of  tears  or  sorrowful  farewells. 


My  Uncle  Jervas  Was  Right    399 

They  were  standing  on  the  terrace  in  the  gathering 
dusk ;  as  I  looked,  Aunt  Julia  reached  up  and,  taking  his 
haggard  face  between  her  gentle  hands,  drew  it  down  lower 
and  lower;  and  when  she  spoke,  no  ear  save  his  might 
catch  her  soft-breathed  words. 

And  then  his  great  arms  were  fast  about  her  and  there 
broke  from  him  a  sobbing  cry  of  ecstasy. 

"  O  Julia  —  at  last.  He  was  right  then  —  our  Jervas 
was  right ! " 

And  so  my  uncle  George  learned  to  weep  at  last  and 
found  within  her  loving  arms  the  blessed  relief  of  tears. 


CHAPTER  XH 

TELLS   HOW  I  WENT  UPON  AN   EXPEDITION  WITH  MB.   8HRIG 

I  HAD  been  ringing  ineffectually  at  the  bell  of  my  chambers 
for  perhaps  five  minutes  and  was  about  to  visit  the  adja- 
cent mews  in  quest  of  my  groom,  when  a  voice  spoke  my 
name,  and  turning  about,  I  beheld  Mr.  Shrig,  the  Bow 
Street  officer. 

"  Mr.  Werricker,  sir,"  said  he,  touching  his  low-crowned, 
wide-brimmed  hat  with  a  thick  forefinger,  "  it  ain't  no 
manner  o'  use  you  a-ringin'  o'  that  theer  bell,  because 
there  ain't  nobody  to  answer  same,  your  young  man  Clegg 
'aving  took  a  little  'oliday,  d'  ye  see,  sir." 

"A  holiday,  Mr.  Shrig!     Pray  how  do  you  know?" 

"  By  obserwation,  sir.  I  've  a  powerful  gift  that  way, 
sir — from  a  infant." 

"  This  is  very  extraordinary  behaviour  in  Clegg !  " 

"  But  then,  sir,  your  young  man  is  a  rayther  extraor- 
dinary young  man.  'Owsoever  he  's  gone,  sir,  and  I  appre- 
'end  as  he  ain't  a-comin'  back  —  judgin'  by  vat  'e  says  in 
'is  letter." 

"  What  letter?  " 

"  The  letter  as  'e 's  left  for  you  a-layin*  on  your  desk 
this  werry  minute  along  o'  my  stick  as  I  'appened  to  for- 
get —  but  you  '11  be  vantin'  to  gain  hadmittance,  I  expect, 
sir." 

"  I  do." 

"  Vy  then,  't  is  rayther  fortunate  as  I  did  forget  my 
stick  or  I  should  n't  ha*  come  back  for  it  in  time  to  be  o' 
service  to  you,  Mr.  Werricker.  By  your  leave,  sir."  Say- 
ing which,  Mr.  Shrig  took  a  small,  neat  implement  from 
one  of  his  many  capacious  pockets,  inserted  it  into  the 
keyhole,  gave  it  a  twist,  and  the  door  swung  open* 

"  Ah  —  a  skeleton  key,  Mr.  Shrig?  " 

"  That  werry  i-dentical,  sir." 


An  Expedition  with  Mr.  Shrig    401 

"  Is  this  how  you  gained  admittance  to  my  chambers  ?  " 

"  Ex-actly,  sir." 

"  And,  being  there,  read  my  private  letters  ?  " 

"  Only  the  vun,  sir  —  dooty  is  dooty  —  only  the  vim. 
And  I  've  a  varrant  o'  search  —  " 

Entering  my  small  library,  I  espied  Mr.  Sling's 
knobbed  staff  lying  upon  my  desk  and  beside  it  a  letter 
laid  carefully  apart  from  a  pile  of  unopened  missive*. 

"  Is  this  the  letter?  " 

"  The  werry  same,  sir." 

"But  if  you  have  read  it,  how  comes  the  seal  un- 
broken? " 

"  By  means  of  a  warm  knife-blade,  sir." 

Wondering,  I  opened  the  letter  and  read  as  follows : 

SIR: 

I  regret  that  I  am  forced  by  circumstances  to  quit  your 
service  at  a  moment's  notice,  but  trust  you  will  find  all  in 
order  as  regards  tradesmen's  accounts,  your  clothes,  linen, 
napery,  etc.  The  key  of  the  silver  you  will  find  under  the 
hearthrug. 

Hoping  you  will  find  one  as  zealous  as  the  unfortunate 
writer, 

I  remain,  sir, 

Yours  respectfully, 

THOMAS  CLEGG. 

"  Very  strange !  "  said  I. 

"  Ah !  "  sighed  Mr.  Shrig.  "  But  then  life  generally  is, 
Mr.  Werricker,  sir,  if  you  '11  take  the  trouble  to  ob-serve ; 
so  strange  that  I  ain't  never  surprised  at  nothing  —  no- 
where and  nohow,  sir.  For  instance,  if  you  a-peepin'  from 
the  garret  winder  o'  the  'ouse  opposite  —  yonder  across 
the  street  —  'ad  'appened  to  ob-serve  a  young  fe-male  on 
her  knees  —  here  beside  your  werry  own  desk  and  veepin' 
fit  to  break  'er  'eart,  pore  soul  —  you  'd  ha'  been  surprised, 
I  think  —  but  I  was  n't,  no,  not  nohow  —  " 

"  Do  you  mean  you  actually  saw  a  woman  here  —  here 
in  my  chambers  ?  " 

"  Aye,  I  did,  sir!" 


4O2  Peregrine's  Progress 

"  Who  —  who  was  she?  " 

"A  wictim  o'  wiciousness,  sir." 
;     "  What  in  the  world  do  you  mean?    Who  was  she?  " 

"  Well,  d'  ye  'appen  to  know  a  young  woman  name  of 
(Nancy  Price,  sir?" 
j      "No!" 

"And  yet  you've  'ad  same  in  your  arms,  Mr.  Wer- 
ricker,  sir." 

"  What  the  devil  are  you  suggesting?  "  I  demanded 
angrily. 

"  I  suggest  as  you  found  same  young  woman  in  a  vood 
at  midnight  and  carried  'er  to  a  inn  called  the  *  Soaring 
Lark.' " 

"  Good  heavens !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  That  unfortunate 
creature?  " 

"That  werry  same  i-dentical,  sir  —  a  wictim  o'  wicious- 
ness as  your  late  lamented  uncle,  Sir  Jervas,  God  bless  'im 
—  amen !  —  saved  from  des'prit  courses  —  " 

"  My  uncle  Jervas  —  "I  exclaimed. 

"  Saved  from  des'prit  courses ! "  repeated  Mr.  Shrig. 
"  Himself,  sir.  Lord  love  him,  'e  was  always  a-doin'  of 
it ;  many  a  pore  soul,  male  and  female,  'e  's  saved  from  the 
river  —  ah,  and  worse  as  well,  I  know  —  ekally  ready  wi' 
fist  or  purse,  ah,  by  Goles,  an'  vat  vas  better,  with  'ope 
for  the  'elpless  an'  'elp  for  them  as  it  seemed  nothin'  nor 
nobody  could  reach  'cept  the  law  —  a  friend  to  them  as 
thought  they  'ad  no  friend  but  death.  A  fine  gentleman, 
sir  —  yes,  a  tippy,  a  go,  a  bang-up  blood,  a  reg'lar  'eavy- 
toddler,  but  most  of  all  —  a  man  !  And  I  says  again,  God 
bless  'im  an'  'is  memory  —  amen !  " 

"  Amen !  "  I  repeated,  while  Mr.  Shrig,  tugging  at  some- 
thing in  the  depths  of  a  capacious  side  pocket,  eventually 
drew  thence  a  large,  vivid-hued  handkerchief  and  blew  his 
nose  resoundingly;  which  done,  he  blinked  at  me,  surely 
the  mildest-seeming  man  in  all  the  world,  despite  the  brass- 
mounted  pistol  which,  disturbed  in  its  lurking  place  by  the 
sudden  extrication  of  the  handkerchief,  peeped  at  me 
grimly  from  his  pocket. 


An  Expedition  with  Mr.  Shrig    403 

"  Mr.  Shrig,  I  should  like  to  shake  your  hand,"  said  I. 

"  'Eartily  an*  vith  a  vill,  sir ! "  he  answered. 

"  You  see,  I  loved  and  honoured  him  also,  Mr.  Shrig." 

"  Verefore  an*  therefore,  sir,  I  make  bold  to  ask  if 
you're  partic'ler  busy  to-day?" 

"I  am  here  to  meet  a  friend  and  then  I  am  for  the 
country." 

"  Tonbridge  vay,  sir?  " 

"  Yes,  why  do  you  ask?  " 

*'  Because  I  've  a  call  thereabouts  myself  to-day,  an'  if 
you  vas  minded  to  go  along,  I'd  be  honoured,  sir,  hon- 
oured." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Shrig,  but  —  "  I  paused,  for  among 
the  pile  of  unopened  letters  I  espied  one  addressed  in  a 
familiar  hand  and,  breaking  the  seal,  read: 

MY  DEAR  PERRY: 

Strong  drink  is  raging,  so  am  I,  and  London  is  the  devil! 

Temptation  dogs  me,  but  a  promise  is  a  promise,  so  I  have 

scuttled  off  ignominiously.    You  will  find  me  at  the  Chequers 

Inn,  Tonbridge,  if  I  am  not  there  to  meet  you,  wait  for  me. 

By  the  way,  ale  is  exempt  from  your  proscription,  of  course. 

Yours  to  command  now  as  ever, 

ANTHONY  VERE-MANVILLK. 

"  Mr.  Shrig,"  said  I,  pocketing  this  letter,  "  when,  pray, 
ido  you  propose  to  start  Tonbridge  way?  " 

"  This  werry  moment,  sir." 

"  Why,  then  I  shall  be  happy  to  accompany  you." 

"  Are  ye  ready,  sir?  " 

"Quite;  let  us  go!" 

So  side  by  side  we  stepped  out  into  the  street ;  here  Mr. 
Shrig,  setting  two  fingers  to  his  mouth,  emitted  a  shrill 
whistle  and  round  the  corner  came  a  tilbury  behind  a 
likely-looking  horse  driven  by  a  red-faced  man,  who,  at  a 
sign  from  Mr.  Shrig,  descended  from  the  lofty  seat,  into 
which  we  climbed  forthwith. 

"T'morrer  mornin',  Joel!"  said  Mr.  Shrig,  taking  up 
the  reins ;  and  flicking  the  horse,  away  we  went  at  a  sharp 
trot. 


404  Peregrine's  Progress 

"  Do  you  propose  to  stay  the  night  at  Tonbridge,  Mr. 
Shrig?  " 

"  Vy  —  it  *s  all  accordin*  to  Number  Vun,  sir.  Number 
Vun  set  out  for  Tonbridge  but  might  be  goin*  further; 
v'ether  Je  does  or  no,  depends  on  Number  Two." 

"  I  fear  I  do  not  understand  you,  Mr.  Shrig.'* 

"  Vich  is  'ardly  to  be  expected,  sir.  Y'  see,  perfeshion- 
ally  speakin',  I'm  arter  two  birds  as  I  'opes  to  ketch 
alive  an'  dead." 

"  But  how  can  you  catch  anything  alive  and  dead  ?  " 

"Veil,  then,  let's  say  vun  alive  an'  t'  other  'un  dead." 

"Ah  —  what  kind  of  birds?  " 

"  Downy  vuns,  sir  —  'specially  Number  Vun ! "  and  here 
my  companion  smiled  and  nodded  benignantly. 

Mr.  Shrig  drove  rapidly,  threading  his  way  through  the 
traffic  with  the  ease  of  an  experienced  Jehu,  and  soon  in 
place  of  dingy  roofs  and  chimneys  my  eyes  were  blessed 
with  the  green  of  trees  shading  the  familiar  road  which 
led,  as  I  knew,  to  those  leafy  solitudes  where  one  "  might 
walk  with  God."  And  now  there  rushed  upon  me  a 
memory  of  Diana  —  Diana  as  she  once  had  been  —  my 
Goddess  of  the  Silent  Places ;  and  I  yearned  passionately 
for  the  irrevocable  past  and  despaired  in  bitter  hopeless- 
ness of  the  present  and  the  long  and  lonely  future. 

From  these  gloomy  thoughts  I  was  aroused  by  the 
sound  of  my  companion's  voice: 

"I  am  a-goin'  on  this  here  hexpe-dition,  sir,  with  the 
expectation  —  I  may  say  with  the  'ope  sir,  of  finding  a 
body  —  " 

"  A  body  of  what?  "  I  enquired  absently. 

"  Lord,  Mr.  Werricker,  sir,  vat  should  it  be  but  a  hum- 
ing  body  —  a  corpse,  sir." 

"  Horrible ! "  I  exclaimed.  "  Who  is  it  ?  Where  did  he 
die?" 

"  Veil,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Shrig,  consulting  a  ponderous 
watch,  "  to  the  best  o*  my  judgment  'e  ain't  dead  yet,  no, 
not  yet,  I  fancy,  but  two  hours — 'say  three — should  do 
'is  business  neat  an*  comfortable ;  yes  —  in  three  hours  'e 


An  Expedition  with  Mr.  Shrig    405 

should  be  as  nice  a  corpse  as  ever  you  might  vish  to  see  — 
if  the  con-elusions  as  I  've  drawed  is  correct.  An*  talkin* 
o'  murder,  sir  —  " 

"  Ah !  "  I  exclaimed.    "  Is  it  murder?  " 

"  Sir,"  answered  Mr.  Shrig,  "  speakin'  without  preju- 
dice, I  answer  you,  it 's  a-goin'  to  be,  or  I  'm  a  f  rog-eatin* 
Frenchman,  vich  God  forbid,  sir.  An'  speakin'  o'  murder, 
here  's  my  attitood  towards  same  —  there 's  murder  as  is 
murder  an'  there's  murder  as  is  justifiable  'omiclde.  If 
you  commits  the  fact  for  private  wengeance,  windictive- 
ness  or  personal  gain,  then  't  is  murder  damned  an'  vith  a 
werry  big  he-M ;  but  if  so  be  you  commits  the  fact  to  rid 
yourself  or  friends  an'  the  world  in  general  of  evil,  then 
I  'old  'tis  a  murder  justifiable.  Consequently  it  will  go 
to  my  'eart  to  appre-'end  this  here  murderer." 

"  Who  is  he?  "  I  demanded. 

"  Ex-cuse  me,  sir  —  no !  Seein'  as  Jow  this  cove,  though 
a  murderer  in  intent,  ain't  a  murderer  in  fact,  yet  —  you 
must  ex-cuse  me  if  I  with'old  'is  name.  And  here 's  Eltham 
Village  an'  yonder  's  the  'Man  o'  Kent'  a  good  'ouse 
v'ere  I  'm  known,  so  if  you  '11  'old  the'oss,  sir,  I  '11  get  down 
and  ax  a  question  or  so." 

And  I,  sitting  outside  this  sleepy  hostelry  in  this 
quiet  village  street,  thought  no  more  of  Mr.  Sling's  grue- 
some errand,  but  rather  of  shady  copse,  of  murmurous 
brooks  and  of  one  whose  vivid  presence  had  been  an  ever- 
growing joy  and  inspiration,  waking  me  to  nobler  man- 
hood, filling  me  with  aspirations  to  heroic  achievement; 
and  to-day  here  sat  I,  lost  in  futile  dreams  —  scorning 
myself  for  a  miserable  failure  while  the  soul  within  me 
wept  for  that  Diana  of  the  vanished  past  — 

"  Right  as  ninepence,  sir ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Shrig,  beam- 
ing cheerily  as  he  clambered  up  beside  me.  "  My  birds 
'as  flew  this  vay,  sure  enough ! " 

Thus  as  we  drove  I  sat  alternately  lost  in  these  distress- 
ful imaginings  or  hearkening  to  my  companion's  animad- 
versions upon  rogues,  criminals,  and  crime  in  general 
until,  as  the  afternoon  waned,  we  descended  the  steep  hill 


406          Peregrine's  Progress 

into  Wrotham  village  and  pulled  up  at  the  "  Bull "  Inn, 
into  whose  hospitable  portal  Mr.  Shrig  vanished,  to  pur- 
sue those  enquiries  he  had  repeated  at  every  posthouse 
along  the  road. 

Presently  as  I  sat,  reins  in  hand,  an  ostler  appeared 
who,  grasping  the  horse's  bridle  and  heeding  me  no  whit, 
led  us  into  the  stable  yard.  And  here  I  found  Mr.  Shrig 
leaning  upon  his  knotted  stick  and  lost  in  contemplation 
of  a  dusty  chaise  beneath  which  lay  a  perspiring  and  pro- 
fane postboy  busied  with  divers  tools  upon  the  front  axle. 

Now  as  I  glanced  at  the  vehicle,  something  about  it 
struck  me  as  familiar  and  then,  despite  the  dust,  I  saw 
that  it  had  red  wheels  and  a  black  body  picked  out  in 
yellow. 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Shrig,"  said  I,  "  if  this  is  the  chaise  you  are 
so  interested  about,  I  think  I  can  tell  you  who  rode  in  it." 

"And  who  would  you  name,  sir?" 

"  Captain  Danby,"  I  answered. 

"Aye,  to  be  sure,  sir.  Then  just  step  into  the  stable 
wi5  me ! " 

Wondering,  I  obeyed  and  beheld  a  hissing  ostler  rub- 
bing down  a  dusty  horse. 

"  Why,  this  animal  is  mine !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  This  is 
Caesar,  one  of  my  saddle  horses." 

"  Aye,  to  be  sure,  sir !  "  nodded  Mr.  Shrig.  "  Wicious- 
ness  has  been  a-ridin'  in  that  theer  chaise  an'  Windictive- 
ness  a-gallopin'  arter  on  your  'oss.  P'raps  you  can  like- 
wise tell  me  who  't  was  as  rode  your  'oss  ?  " 

"  No,"  I  answered,  "  unless  —  good  heaven,  can  it  be 
Anthony  —  my  friend  Mr.  Vere-Manville  ?  " 

"  Name  sounds  familiar ! "  said  Mr.  Shrig,  rubbing  his 
nose  thoughtfully,  while  his  keen  gaze  roved  here  and  there. 

"  Where  is  Captain  Danby  —  I  want  a  word  with  him," 
said  I,  stepping  hastily  out  of  the  stable. 

"The  Cap'n,  sir,"  answered  Mr.  Shrig  close  to  my 
elbow,  "  havin'  partook  of  a  glass  o'  brandy  an'  vater,  has 
took  a  little  valk  a-top  of  it,  an'  the  evenin'  bein'  so  fine  or 
as  you  might  say  balmy,  I  think  ve  '11  go  a-valking  too  —  " 


An  Expedition  with  Mr.  Shrig    407 

Reaching  the  narrow  street  I  espied  the  tall,  lounging 
form  of  Captain  Danby  some  considerable  distance  ahead 
and  instinctively  hastened  my  steps. 

"Verefore  the  hurry,  sir?"  enquired  Mr.  Shrig,  laying 
a  finger  on  my  arm. 

"I  must  speak  with  yonder  scoundrel." 

"  Scoundrel  is  the  werry  i-dentical  vord,  sir  —  but  bide 
a  bit  —  easy  it  is." 

As  he  spoke,  the  Captain  turned  out  of  the  street  into 
a  field  path  shaded  by  a  tall  hedge;  in  due  time  we  also 
came  to  this  path  and  saw  a  shady  lane  ran  parallel  with 
it,  down  which  a  man  was  walking.  We  had  gone  but  a 
little  way  along  this  path  when  Mr.  Shrig  halted  and  seat- 
ing himself  upon  the  grassy  bank,  took  off  his  hat  and 
mopped  his  brow. 

"  A  be-eautiful  sunset,  sir." 

"  Yes ! "  I  answered,  turning  to  view  the  glowing  splen- 
dour. 

"  So  werry  red,  Mr.  Werricker,  sir,  like  fire — like  blood." 

But  I  noticed  that  his  keen  glance  was  fixed  upon  the 
little  wood  that  gloomed  some  distance  before  us,  also  that 
he  held  his  head  aslant  as  one  who  listens  intently,  and 
had  taken  out  his  ponderous  watch. 

"  Why  do  you  sit  there,  Mr.  Shrig? "  I  enquired,  a 
little  impatiently. 

"  I  'm  a-vaitin%  sir." 

"What  for,  man?" 

"  Hush,  sir,  and  you  '11  soon  —  " 

The  word  was  lost  in  a  strange,  sudden,  double  concus- 
sion of  sound. 

"  At  ex-actly  twenty-two  minutes  to  eight,  sir ! "  said 
Mr.  Shrig,  and  rising  to  his  feet,  set  off  briskly  along  the 
path.  We  had  almost  reached  the  wood  I  have  mentioned 
when  Mr.  Shrig  raised  his  knobbed  stick  to  point  at  some- 
thing that  sprawled  grotesquely  across  the  path.  The 
hat  had  fallen  and  rolled  away  and  staring  down  into  the 
horror  of  this  face  fouled  with  blood  and  blackened  with 
powder,  I  recognised  the  features  of  Captain  Danby. 


4.08  Peregrine's  Progress 

"  So  here  9s  the  end  o'  Wiciousness,"  said  Mr.  Shrig  and 
as  he  leaned  upon  his  stick  I  saw  his  bright  glance  roving 
here  and  there;  it  flashed  along  the  path  before  us;  it 
swept  the  thicker  parts  of  the  hedge  behind  us;  it  ques- 
tioned the  deepening  shadow  of  the  copse.  "  Aye,  here  's 
an  end  to  Number  Vun,  and  if  we  look  in  the  vood  yonder, 
I  fancy  we  shall  see  summat  o'  Number  Two.  This  vay, 
sir  —  you  can  see  the  leaves  is  bloody  hereabouts  if  you 
look  —  this  vay !  "  Like  one  in  an  evil  dream  I  followed 
him  in  among  the  trees  and  was  aware  that  he  had 
halted  again. 

"What  now  —  what  is  it?"  I  questioned. 

"  Number  Two,  sir,  and  —  look  yonder,  and  —  by  Goles, 
'e  's  dodged  me  likewise  —  burn  my  neck  if  'e  ain't ! " 

As  he  spoke,  Mr.  Shrig  parted  the  kindly  leaves  and  I 
beheld  the  form  of  my  servant  Clegg,  as  neat  and  precise 
in  death  as  he  had  ever  been  in  life. 

"  Poor  lad  !  "  said  Mr.  Shrig,  baring  his  head.  "  Ye 
see,  'e  'appened  to  love  Nancy  Price,  sir — the  wictim  o* 
Wiciousness  yonder,  an'  'ere 's  the  result.  Even  walets 
has  feelin's  —  this  'un  werry  much  so!" 

"Dead?"  I  mumbled,  feeling  myself  suddenly  faint. 
"Dead  — both?" 

"  Aye,  sir —  both!  Vich  is  comin'  it  a  bit  too  low  down 
on  a  man  an'  no  error !  To  ha'  lost  both  on  'em  —  crool 
'ard  I  calls  it!" 

Sick  with  horror,  I  was  stumbling  away  from  this 
dreadful  place  when  Mr.  Sling5  s  voice  stayed  me. 

"'Old  'ard,  sir — bide  a  bit!  If  the  con-elusions  as 
I  've  drawed  is  correct,  here  should  be  summat  o'  yourn." 

Turning  about,  I  espied  him  on  his  knees,  examining  the 
contents  of  the  dead  man's  pockets  with  a  methodical  pre- 
cision that  revolted  me. 

"Of  mine?"  said  I,  shuddering. 

"  Your  werry  own,  sir.  'T  was  one  o'  the  reasons  as  I 
brought  you  along  —  I  do  'ope  Windictiveness  here  ain't 
destroyed  it  —  ah,  'ere  it  is,  Mr.  Werricker,  sir  —  though 
the  seal 's  broke,  you  '11  ob-serve." 


'     X 

An  Expedition  with  Mr.  Shrig    409 

Dazed  and  wondering,  I  took  the  letter  he  held  out  to 
me,  but  no  sooner  had  I  glanced  at  the  superscription 
than  I  forgot  all  else  for  the  moment. 

"How  —  how  should  that  man  —  come  by  this?"  I 
stammered  at  last. 

"  Took  or  pur-loined  it  from  the  young  'ooman  Nancy 
Price,  sir,  according  to  'er  own  ewidence,  as  stated  to  me 
in  my  little  office  this  mornin'  —  an'  her  a-veepin'  all  over 
my  papers,  pore  lass !  Aha !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Shrig,  still 
busied  on  his  researches.  "  He 's  got  summat  in  this  'ere 
'ind  pocket  as  I  can't  come  at  —  p'raps  you'll  obleege 
me  by  heavin'  Windictiveness  over  a  bit,  sir?  Why,  never 
mind,  sir  —  done  it  myself  —  " 

"How  —  did  the  young  woman  come  by  this  letter?" 

"'Tis  in  ewidence  as  years  ago  she  was  maid  to  a 
lady  —  now  Mrs.  Vere-Manville,  it  was  give  her  by  that 
same.  What,  are  ye  goin',  sir?  Werry  good,  this  ain't 
exactly  a  cheery  spot  at  present.  Will  you  be  so  obleegin' 
as  to  send  a  cart  an',  say,  a  'urdle  for  these  ere  birds  o' 
mine?" 

And  so  I  left  him,  sitting  between  his  "  birds  "  whose 
flying  days  were  done,  busily  making  notes  in  his  little 
book,  very  like  some  industrious  clerk  posting  his  ledger 
for  the  day. 

Reaching  the  "Bull"  Inn,  I  despatched  cart  and 
hurdle  as  desired  and,  ordering  rooms  for  the  night,  shut 
myself  therein  to  escape  the  general  hubbub  and  horri- 
fied questioning  my  news  had  called  forth.  And  here, 
remote  from  all  and  sundry,  I  unfolded  the  letter  a  dead 
man's  hand  had  opened  and  read  these  words: 

Knowing  you  vile,  I  should  have  grieved  for  you, 
pitied  you,  but  loved  you  still.  Believing  me  vile, 
you  are  pitiless,  cold,  and  with  no  mercy  in  you. 
Indeed  and  you  would  have  shamed  me!  But  true 
love,  being  of  Heaven,  knows  no  shame  and  can 
never  die. 
Oh,  you  poor,  blind  Peregrine. 


TO  MY  PATIENT  AND  KINDLY  READER 

HERE  do  I  make  an  end  of  this  Second 
Book,  wherein  shall  be  found  overmuch 
of  blood,  of  gloom  and  shadow,  of  mis- 
understanding and  heartbreak  engendered 
of  my  own  perfervid  imagination;  and 
glad  am  I  and  more  than  glad  to  have 
done  with  it. 

And  here,  since  the  longest  road  must 
end,  since  after  storm  and  tempest  must 
come  peace  and  heavenly  calm,  and  be- 
cause "  though  heaviness   endure   for  a 
night  yet  joy  cometh  in  the  morning" 
—  here  do  I  begin  this  Third,  last,  and 
shortest    Book    which    those    enduring 
,  Readers  who  have  borne  with  and  fol- 
t  lowed  me  thus  far  may  see  is  inscribed 

DAWN 


CHAPTER  I 

CONCERNING  ONE  TOM  MARTIN,  AN  OSTLER 

I  SAT  upon  a  hay  pile  in  that  same  shady  corner  of  the 
yard  behind  the  "  Chequers  "  inn  where  once  had  stood  a 
weather-beaten  cart  drawn  by  a  four-footed  philosopher 
called  Diogenes. 

But  to-day  this  corner  was  empty  save  for  myself,  and 
the  yard  also  except  for  two  or  three  wains  or  country 
waggons  and  a  man  in  a  sleeved  waistcoat  who  chewed 
upon  a  straw  and  stared  at  the  inn,  the  waggons  and 
myself  with  a  faded,  lack-lustre  eye  and  sniffed;  so  fre- 
quently indeed,  and  so  loudly  that  at  last  it  obtruded 
itself  upon  my  notice. 

"  You  have  a  very  bad  cold !  "  said  I. 

"  I  ain't ! "  he  retorted  gloomily. 

"Yet  you  sniff  very  loud." 

"  Con-sti-tootional !  "  quoth  he.  "  My  feyther  done  it 
afore  me,  an*  'is  feyther  afore  'im,  'an  'is  feyther  afore 
}im  an*  —  but  wot  of  it,  my  chap?  Can't  a  cove  sniff  if 
so  minded?  " 

"  Certainly !  "  I  answered. 

"  I  ain't  said  nothink  to  you  about  wallerin'  in  that 
theer  'ay  —  'ave  I?  Very  well!  Why  can't  you  let  a 
man  sniff  in  peace  ?  " 

"Very  well,"  said  I,  "  sniff!  " 

"  I  will ! "  said  he  and  immediately  did  so,  louder  than 
ever. 

"  Astonishing !  "  said  I. 


412  Peregrine's  Progress 

"  A  cove  can  sniff  without  a  cold  if  so  be  't  is  'is  natur* 
so  to  do,  can't  'e?" 

"  So  I  perceive." 

"  An'  't  is  a  free  country  an'  such  so  bein',  a  man 's  at 
liberty  to  sniff  or  no,  an'  no  offence  give  or  took,  ain't 
'e?  Very  well,  then !" 

"  Very  well  indeed !  "  I  nodded.  "  I  have  never  heard  a 
man  sniff  better  or  louder  —  " 

"  You  leave  my  sniffin'  alone  an'  I  '11  leave  you  alone — 

"  I  hope  you  will,"  said  I. 

"Well,  I  ain't  so  sure  as  I  will;  you  wags  your  chin 
too  much  to  please  me  —  an'  let  me  tell  ye,  bold  an' 
p'inted,  I  don't  like  the  cock  o'  your  eye !  So  s'pose  you 
stand  on  your  pins  —  " 

"Well,"  I  answered,  stretching  myself  more  comfort- 
ably, "let  us  suppose  so  —  what  then?" 

"  Why,  then,  my  covey,  I  '11  knock  ye  off  your  pins 
again  — prompt  an*  j'yful ! " 

"  Under  those  circumstances  I  much  prefer  to  remain 
as  I  am." 

"Why,  then  you're  a  weevil  —  a  worm,  ah — an' 
what 's  more,  a  weevily  worm  at  that,  an'  I  spits  on  ye ! " 

Here,  perceiving  that  he  was  about  to  put  his  heinous 
threat  into  execution,  I  arose. 

"  Enough !  "  quoth  I,  buttoning  my  coat.  "  Now  let 
Olyrnpus  shake,  the  caverns  of  ocean  roar,  the  round 
earth  tremble!  If  you  have  fists,  prepare  to  use  them 
now — come  on,  pestiferous  peasant,  most  contumacious 
clod,  and  *  damned  be  he  that  first  cries  Hold — enough  '  !  " 

"  Well,  drown'd  me ! "  exclaimed  the  ostler,  staring. 
i "  Drown'd  me  if  I  ever  'card  sich  'orrid  talk  in  all  my 
days,  an'  I  've  groomed  for  a  earl  —  ah,  an'  a  markis  afore 
now!" 

Having  said  which,  he  clenched  his  fists,  squared  his 
shoulders  and  launched  himself  at  me  like  a  charging  bull. 
But  profiting  by  Jessamy  Todd's  many  lessons  and  painful 
instruction,  I  danced  nimbly  aside,  tapped  him  with  my 
left,  spun  round  to  meet  his  second  rush,  checked  him  with 


4  One  Tom  Martin,  An  Ostler     413 

&  flush  hit,  swung  my  right  beneath  his  chin  and  next 
moment  saw  him  sitting  upon  the  cobblestones,  legs  wide- 
straddled,  gaping  about  him  with  a  vacant  air. 

"  'Oly  'eavens  !  "  he  murmured,  glancing  from  the  cloud- 
less sky  to  me  and  back  again.  "  An*  sich  a  whipper- 
snapper  —  'oly  'eavens !  " 

"A  —  weevily  worm?"  I  enquired. 

"  Sir,  I  takes  it  back !  "  he  answered,  tenderly  feeling  his 
chin.  "  There  ain't  a  weevil  breathin',  no,  nor  yet  a  worm 
as  could  ha'  knocked  me  off  my  pins  so  neat  an'  true!  I 
takes  back  weevil  an'  likewise  worm,  sir." 

"  Good ! "  said  I,  and  tossed  him  a  shilling. 

"  What 's  this  'ere  for?  "  he  enquired. 

"  The  exercise  you  have  afforded  me ;  it  has  done  me 
good,  chased  the  dusty  cobwebs  from  my  brain,  stimulated 
more  healthy  thought.  Life  perchance  is  not  all  dust  and 
ashes  nor  the  world  a  pit  of  noisome  gloom;  some  day 
even  I  may  learn  perhaps  to  be  —  almost  happy  —  " 

"  Lord,  sir,  you  sound  as  if  you  'd  been  crossed  an* 
double-crossed  in  love,  you  do  —  " 

"  Ah  —  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  No  offence,  sir !  But  y'  see,  I  were  in  love  once  —  ah, 
an*  with  a  sweet  purty  lass  an'  she  wi'  me,  but  afore  I 
could  marry  'er  she  bolted  along  of  a  circus  cove  in  a 
scarlet,  laced  coat  an'  whip,  d'  ye  see." 

"  Extremely   feminine !  "  said  I,  nodding. 

"  May  be,  sir,  but  one  day  she  come  creepin*  back  to 
me,  very  'eart-broke  an'  shameful,  pore  lass;  seems  the 
circus  cove,  growin'  tired-like,  'ad  took  to  usin'  'is  whip 
on  'er  —  an'  so  she  come  a-creepm*  back  to  me." 

"And  what  then?" 

"  Why,  then,  o'  course  I  married  *er." 

"Married  her!     But  after  —  the  disgrace  —  " 

"  There  were  n't  no  disgrace ;  I  married  'er !    Y*  see,  I 
loved  'er  purty  looks  an*  gentle  ways." 
*      "  And    you  —  married    her  —  notwithstanding !      You 
forgave  her ! " 
*V  "  Aye,  I  did  —  years  an*  years  ago !    Ah,  an'  a  danged 


414  Peregrine's  Progress 

good  little  wife  she's  been  too  —  ah,  an*  mother  —  none 
better." 

"Have  you  many  children?" 

"Nine!" 

"  And  you  feed  them  all?  " 

"  Every  one  —  an*  very  frequent,  bless  their  little 
'carts." 

"  And  clothe  them?  " 

"  As  well  as  I  can,  sir,  though  their  clo'es  gets  uncommon 
wore  an'  'oley,  'igh  an'  low  —  specially  low,  sir!" 

"You  provide  a  roof  to  shelter  them?" 

"  Aye  —  such  as  it  is  —  needs  re-thatchin'  bad." 

"  And  are  you  happy?  " 

"  Aye,  I  am  —  though  times  is  'ard." 

"  And  pray  what  is  your  name?  " 

"  Martin,  sir  —  Thomas  Martin." 

"  Then,  Thomas  Martin,  you  are  a  man  —  and  a  better, 
a  far  better  man  than  I,  for — hear  me  confess,  Tom 
Martin,  I  have  never  performed  any  one  of  these  man's 
virtues.  You  have  done  nobly ! "  And  I  thrust  five  guin- 
eas into  his  work-hardened  palm. 

"Well  drown'd  me!"  he  gasped,  very  much  as  if  he 
were  undergoing  that  watery  ordeal.  "Egad,  sir!  Lord 
love  your  eyes  an'  limbs  —  " 

"  For  the  children  and  their  mother,"  said  I. 

"God  bless  ye,  sir!" 

"  Indeed  I  hope  He  may.  Heaven  knows  I  have  been  a 
sufficing  failure  hitherto,  a  sorrow  to  myself  and  my 
friends.  But  you,  Tom  Martin,  have  inspired  me  to 
attempt  a  notable  good  action  —  perhaps  the  noblest  of 
my  life.  So  good-bye,  Tom;  let  me  hasten  to  perform 
the  best  act  I  ever  did ! " 

Hurrying  into  the  inn  I  called  for  pens,  ink  and  paper, 
and  sitting  down  forthwith,  wrote  this: 

MY  DEAR  ANTHONY: 

The  wind  has  whispered,  a  bird  has  sung  to  me,  and  an 
ostler,  by  name  Tom  Martin  (long  may  he  flourish)  has  shown 
me  a  man's  work. 


One  Tom  Martin,  An  Ostler     415 

For  who  am  I,  poor  finite  wretch,  to  judge  my  fellows 
and  condemn  such  as  work  me  evil  (and,  inadvertently,  them- 
selves also,  since  Evil  is  double-edged  and  cuts  both  ways?) 
Who  am  I  to  despise  or  dislove  them  for  the  pain  they  cause 
me  to  endure  (and,  inadvertently,  themselves  also?)  Should 
I  not  rather  seek  to  forget  past  wrongs,  to  cherish  and  com- 
fort such  as  despitefully  use  me?  Is  not  this  the  secret  of 
true  and  abiding  happiness? 

My  two  uncles  (whom  God  eternally  bless !)  waked  in  me 
the  desire  to  be  a  true  man;  and  what  is  there  more  manly 
than  to  forget  a  wrong,  to  forgive  past  trespasses  and  cherish 
the  hand  that  has  hurt  us? 

So  to-day,  dear  Anthony,  instead  of  awaiting  you  here,  I 
do  a  better  thing ;  to-day  at  last,  I  go  seeking  my  manhood  in 
the  achievement  of  a  nobler  act  than  I  ever  thought  possible 
of  my  accomplishment;  to-day  I  go  to  Diana. 

Your  devoted  friend, 

PEREGRINE  VEREKER. 

This  letter  despatched,  I  ordered  a  horse  to  be  saddled; 
very  soon,  thanks  to  Tom  Martin's  zeal,  the  animal  was 
at  the  door  and,  though  the  day  was  far  advanced,  I 
mounted  forthwith  and  galloped  away  for  Wyvelstoke 
Towers. 


CHAPTER  II 

I  GO  TO  FIND  DIANA 

BIRDS  were  calling  their  melodious  complaint  on  the  pass- 
ing of  another  day  and  the  shadows  were  lengthening 
when  I  came  to  a  cross-roads  where  stood  a  timeworn 
finger-post  beneath  which  sat  a  solitary  figure  in  weather- 
beaten  hat  and  coat,  head  bowed  over  the  book  opened 
upon  his  knees. 

Now  at  sight  of  this  lonely  figure  I  reined  in  so  sud- 
denly that  this  solitary  person  glanced  up  and  I  saw 
the  white  hair,  keen  eyes  and  pale,  aquiline  features  of 
the  Earl  of  Wyvelstoke.  At  sight  of  me  he  closed  the 
book  and  rose,  and  in  stern  features,  in  every  line  of  his 
slender,  shabby  figure  was  a  stately  aloofness  that  chilled 
me. 

"My  lord?"  said  I  interrogatively,  and  taking  off 
my  hat,  I  bowed. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Vereker,"  he  answered,  with  a  slight  incli- 
nation of  his  head.  "  So  you  come  at  last.  A  charming 
evening.  I  wish  you  as  well  of  it  as  you  deserve !  "  And 
turning  his  back,  he  began  to  limp  away ;  but  in  a  moment 
I  was  off  my  horse  and,  hastening  after,  ventured  to 
touch  his  arm,  then  fell  back  in  sheer  amazement  before 
the  ferocious  glare  of  his  eyes;  yet  his  voice  was  as  po- 
litely modulated  as  usual  when  he  spoke: 

"  Sir,  were  you  any  other  than  Peregrine  Vereker  — 
old  as  I  am,  I  would  call  you  out  —  and  shoot  you  with 
peculiar  satisfaction  —  " 

"My   lord  —  sir — ?"   I   stammered. 

"  Sir,"  he  continued,  "  you  will  doubtless  have  very 
many  excellent  excuses  to  offer  for  your  perfectly  inex- 
cusable conduct  —  but  doubtless  you  will  at  least  have 
the  good  taste  to  keep  them  to  yourself.  Whatever  your  ; 


I  Go  To  Find  Diana         417 

reasons,  you  have  been  the  cause  of  much  pain  and  very 
many  bitter  tears  to  —  to  one  I  hold  inexpressibly  dear." 

"  My  lord,  I  —  I  have  been  ill  —  " 

"  And  it  is,  I  believe,  mainly  owing  to  her  devotion  that 
you  still  —  gladden  the  world,  sir." 

"  My  lord,  I  am  here  to  —  to  —  give  Diana  my  hand  in 
fulfilment  of  my  promise." 

"  Are  you  indeed,  Mr.  Vereker  —  you  surprise  me ! " 

"  To  marry  her  whenever  she  will,  sir." 

"Permit  me  to  remark  that  you  are  perhaps  a  little 
tardy." 

"  None  the  less  I  am  here,  sir !  " 

"Your  condescension,  Mr.  Vereker,  is  somewhat  over- 
powering, such  magnanimity  I  find  vastly  touching.  But 
Diana,  I  am  assured,  had  no  idea  of  permitting  you  thus 
to  immolate  yourself  on  the  altar  of  duty." 

"That,  my  lord,  by  your  favour,  I  mean  to  learn 
from  her  own  lips  —  at  once." 

"  Impossible,  sir ! "  he  retorted,  smiling  bitterly. 
"  Quite  —  quite  impossible." 

"Impossible,  my  lord  —  impossible?  Pray  what  —  sir, 
what  do  you  mean  ?  "  I  stammered. 

"That  if  indeed  you  are  minded  —  a  little  late  in  the 
day  perhaps  —  but  if  —  after  very  mature  deliberation  — 
you  at  last  think  fit  to  fulfil  your  pledge  to  Diana,  it  will 
of  course  be  necessary  that  you  first  discover  her  present 
whereabouts." 

"  Is  she  not  here  at  Wy velstoke  with  you,  my  lord  ?  " 

"  Emphatically  not,  sir !  " 

"Then  she  is  with  Mrs.  Vere-Manville  at  Nettlestead 
or  in  London  —  at  least  I  will  go  there  —  at  once." 

"  Then  you  will  waste  your  time,  sir.  Diana  has  dis- 
appeared." 

P     "Disappeared?      Ah,   you   mean    she   has    gone  —  run 
away  ?    Pray,  my  lord,  pray  when  —  when  did  she  go  ?  " 

His  lordship  looked  at  me  keenly  a  while  and  when  he 
spoke  his  voice  seemed  less  harsh: 

"The  news  would  seem  to  disturb  you,  sir?" 


8  Peregrine's  Progress 

"  Beyond  words,  sir.  Henceforth  I  shall  know  little 
rest  until  I  find  her.  Pray  when  did  she  leave  you —  and 
how?" 

"  She  fled  —  yesterday  morning  —  stole  from  Wy vel- 
stoke  before  daybreak  —  she  was  seen  by  one  of  the 
keepers  stealing  away  hi  the  dawn.  She  fled  away  to  — 
hide  her  grief  —  leaving  behind  all  her  jewels  and — a 
very  —  solitary,  very  old  —  man.  She  was  all  I  had  —  my 
comrade,  my  Penthesilea  —  my  loved  daughter  —  " 

His  lordship's  voice  broke  upon  the  word,  his  usually 
upright  figure  seemed  suddenly  bowed  and  shrunken,  he 
looked  indeed  a  very  grief-stricken,  decrepit  old  man  as  he 
stood  fumbling  in  the  pockets  of  his  shabby  coat,  whence 
he  presently  drew  a  letter  that  shook  and  rustled  in  his 
fingers  as  he  unfolded  it. 

"  She  left  this  also,  sir,"  he  continued  with  an  evident 
effort,  "  pray  read  it  —  you  will  find  some  mention  of  — 
breaking  hearts  the  which  should  interest  you  a  little  — 
read  it,  sir !  " 

So  I  took  the  letter  and  saw  it  was  this: 

DEAREST  PAL  AND  NOBLEST  OF  MEN: 

My  poor  heart  is  breaking,  I  think,  and  knowing  how  true 
and  deep  is  your  love  for  me  I  would  not  hare  you  see  my  pain. 
So  I  have  run  away  from  you  awhile  —  fled  away  to  the 
Silent  Places  like  the  poor,  hurt  creature  I  am.  There  I 
mean  to  hide  until  my  wound  is  a  little  healed  and  then 
I  shall  come  back  to  you,  my  dear,  that  I  may  surround  you 
with  my  love  and  teach  you  how  inexpressibly  dear  you  are 
to 

Your  would-be  daughter  and  ever  loving,  grateful, 

DIANA. 

"  Has  she  money,  sir?  "  I  enquired,  returning  the  letter. 

"  Very,  very  little,  I  fear." 

"  Then  she  cannot  have  gone  very  far." 

"  Ah,  Peregrine  —  "  the  proud,  old  head  drooped  and 
the  hand  that  crept  upon  my  dusty  coat  sleeve  was  very 
thin  and  tremulous ;  "  ah,  Peregrine,  if  you  love  her,  find 


I  Go  To  Find  Diana          419 

her  again  —  find  her  for  Love's  sake  —  and  the  sake  of  a 
desolate  —  heartsick  —  old  man !  " 

"  Sir,"  I  answered,  covering  this  twitching  hand  with 
i  my  own,  "  I  will  —  bring  her  back  to  you  —  if  I  have  to 
travel  the  world  over  —  I  will  find  her  if  it  takes  me  all 
my  life  and  every  penny  I  possess ! " 

Then,  mounting  my  horse,  I  swung  him  round  and  gal- 
loped away  without  further  word  of  farewell  or  so  much 
as  one  backward  glance. 


CHAPTER  III 

TELLS  HOW   I   POUND    DIANA   AND  SOONER   THAN   I   DESERVED 

IT  was  growing  dark  when  I  reached  a  part  of  the  road 
that  I  seemed  to  recognise;  therefore  I  checked  my  steed 
to  look  about  me. 

Surely  it  was  here  or  hereabouts  that,  upon  a  never-to- 
be-forgotten  day,  I  had  acted  the  craven  and,  fleeing  in 
panic,  yet  (heaven  be  praised!)  had  rushed  back  to  be 
beaten  into  unconsciousness  by  Diana's  brutal  assailant. 
Surely  it  was  beneath  yonder  tree  that  I  had  waked  to 
find  my  head  pillowed  in  her  lap,  her  cool  hand  upon  my 
brow,  her  lovely  face  stooped  above  me  full  of  tender 
solicitude. 

Remembering  which,  I  was  seized  of  a  sudden  passionate 
longing  for  the  touch  of  her  hand,  to  behold  again  this 
face  radiant  with  love. 

'  My  poor  heart  is  breaking  I  think  —  so  I  have  fled  away 
to  hide  — ' 

As  I  sat  my  horse,  seeing  in  fancy  the  blotted  lines  of 
this,  her  letter,  to  my  yearning  was  added  the  triumphant 
assurance  that  in  spite  of  everything  she  loved  me  still; 
but  this  thought  in  turn  was  'whelmed  in  despair  because 
of  the  well-nigh  hopelessness  of  my  search. 

And  in  this  moment  my  wandering  gaze  lighted  upon 
the  shadowy  outline  of  a  gate  that  opened  in  the  hedge 
upon  my  right  hand,  upon  a  rolling  meadow  with  a  gloom 
of  shadowy  trees  beyond. 

Next  moment  I  was  afoot,  leading  my  horse,  for  surely 
this  was  that  gate  through  which  she  had  led  me,  swoon- 
ing with  my  hurts,  across  this  meadow,  amid  trees  and 
underbrush,  to  that  ruined  and  desolate  barn  which,  she 
had  once  told  me,  had  ever  been  her  haven  of  refuge. 

After  some  little  delay,  I  contrived  to  open  this  gate 


Tells  How  I  Found  Diana     421 

and,  leading  my  horse,  began  to  cross  the  meadow,' 
glancing  this  way  and  that,  often  pausing  unsure,  fearful 
that  my  memory  was  at  fault.  In  this  hesitant  manner  I 
proceeded  until  I  was  dimly  aware  that  the  ground  sloped 
down  before  me  into  a  place  of  shadows  thick  with  dense- 
growing  trees  and  bushes. 

All  at  once  I  halted,  a  prey  to  many  swift  emotions, 
but  chief  of  these  joy  and  a  thrilling,  hopeful  expectancy, 
for  amid  the  deep  gloom  before  me  I  espied  a  faint  beam 
of  light,  and  I  was  praying  within  myself  as,  my  gaze 
upon  this  blessed  light,  I  descended  into  the  deeper  shad- 
ows. Of  necessity  I  went  very  slowly  and  cautiously  until, 
the  trees  thinning  out  somewhat,  enabled  me  to  make  out 
a  black  looming  shape  that  gradually  resolved  itself 
into  a  barn ;  and  it  was  from  the  small  opening  or  window 
beneath  the  gable  that  the  beam  of  light  shone  forth. 

A  solitary  place  and  dismal,  far  removed  from  the 
world,  a  very  sinister  place,  such  indeed  as  might  well  be 
the  haunt  of  grisly  spectres ;  yet,  with  my  gaze  upturned 
to  that  beckoning  light,  I  would  not  have  changed  it,  just 
then,  for  the  most  gorgeous  palace  in  all  the  world.  Sud- 
denly I  halted  again,  my  breath  in  check,  to  stare  at  this 
dreadful  place  with  eyes  of  horror,  as  from  its  impenetra- 
ble gloom  came  sounds  that  brought  out  the  sweat  upon 
my  temples  and  set  my  hand  quivering  upon  the  bridle,  — 
a  succession  of  hollow  knocks  and  rappings  whose  dull 
reverberations  seemed  to  fill  the  night. 

For  a  long  moment  I  stood  thus,  grasping  my  horse's 
bridle,  shivering  from  head  to  foot,  and  staring  at  the 
black  and  ominous  shape  before  me  in  wide-eyed  terror; 
then  I  heard  that  which  brought  me  to  myself  —  nay, 
transformed  me  into  a  cool,  dispassionate,  relentless 
creature,  reckless  of  all  harms  and  dangers,  intent  only 
upon  the  one  desperate  purpose. 

Leading  my  horse  in  among  the  trees,  I  tethered  him 
securely  and  began  to  approach  the  barn  very  cautiously 
and  with  every  nerve  and  sinew  strung  to  instant  action, 
my  heavy  riding-whip  grasped  in  ready  hand. 


[422  Peregrine's  Progress 

The  knocking  had  ceased  and,  creeping  nearer,  I  found 
I  the  doors  open  and,  from  the  pitchy  gloom  of  the  interior, 
heard  a  hoarse  gasping  that  spoke  of  vicious  effort. 

"  Be   damned    t'    ye,   Dick ! "    panted    a   hoarse   voice. 
"  'Eave,  man  —  'eave  —  her 's  a-laying  across  the  trap  — 
push,  damn  ye  —  " 

"  Aye,  Tom  — but  her 's  got  a  knife !  "  panted  a  second 
voice.  "  Don't  'e  forget  'er  's  got  a  knife !  " 

"  An*  what  —  good  '11  her  knife  be  —  once  we  get  —  our 
'ands  on  'er  —  'eave,  I  tell  ye  —  both  together  —  now !  " 

"Bide  a  bit,  Tom  —  let's  'ave  a  light  —  " 

"  Light  be  damned  —  'eave,  man ! " 

Fumbling  my  way  to  the  wall,  I  began  to  creep  towards 
the  creaking  ladder  where  these  panting,  wrestling,  evil 
things  strove  so  desperately. 

Once  or  twice  came  a  swift  beam  of  light,  vivid  in  the 
pervading  blackness,  as  the  trap  door  was  forced  up  an 
inch  or  so ;  brief,  sudden  gleams,  that  showed  me  the  forms 
of  two  men  crouched  upon  the  ladder,  their  shoulders 
bowed  in  passionate  effort;  and  I  waited  until,  loud- 
panting  with  their  desperate  exertions,  they  began  to 
force  up  the  trap  again. 

"  Now,  Dick  —  now !  "  gasped  a  voice ;  and  then  as  they 
strove  again,  I  leapt  and  smote  with  all  my  strength. 

A  squeal  of  pain  and  terror,  the  sudden  slam  of  the  trap 
closing  out  all  light,  the  impact  of  a  heavy  body  upon  the 
rotting  hay  that  littered  the  floor,  and  a  feeble,  whining 
voice. 

"  Tom  —  O  Tom  —  there  's  summat  in  'ere  wi'  us  — 
hurted  bad  I  be  —  there 's  summat  in  'ere  as  'ave  cut  my 
'ead  open,  Tom.    O  Tom,  come  down  an'  'elp  a  pal  — 

"  What  are  ye  yelpin'  over  now  —  and  be  cursed !  " 
panted  the  man  Tom  from  the  ladder.  "  Th'  gal  's  got 
money,  I  tell  ye,  an'  'er 's  a  'andsome  tit  into  the  bargain, 
so  it 's  up  wi'  this  'ere  trap  —  " 

"  O  Tom,  summat  'it  me  —  come  on  down !  There 's 
summat  or  some  one  'ere  wi'  us  —  come  down  an'  see  —  " 

"  'Ow  can  us  see  wi'out  a  light?  " 


Tells  How  I  Found  Diana     423 

"  Well,  I  got  my  tinder  box." 

I  heard  the  man  Tom  stumble  down  the  ladder,  heard 
the  sound  of  flint  and  steel,  saw  their  two  evil  heads  out- 
lined against  the  glow  of  the  tinder  as  they  blew  and,  leap- 
ing upon  them,  I  smote  with  my  heavy  riding-whip  again 
and  yet  again. 

And  now  in  the  black  horror  of  this  ruined  barn  was 
pandemonium,  a  wild  uproar  of  shouts  and  cries,  the 
sound  of  vicious  blows,  the  shock  of  groaning  bodies. 

If  they  were  two,  they  fought  a  mad  creature  who, 
careless  of  defence,  unconscious  of  his  own  hurts,  sought 
only  to  maim  and  rend ;  whether  reeling  in  desperate  grap- 
ple or  rolling  half-smothered  beneath  my  assailants,  I 
fought  as  a  wild  beast  might,  utterly  regardless  of  myself, 
with  fingers  that  wrenched  and  tore,  fists  that  smote  un- 
tiring, feet  that  kicked  and  trampled,  head  that  drove  and 
butted  —  I  was  indeed  a  living  weapon,  as  senseless  to  pain 
and  as  merciless  —  intent  only  on  destruction. 

All  suddenly  was  silence,  a  blessed  quiet,  save  for  the 
hoarse  pant  of  my  own  breathing.  Stumbling  to  the 
doorway,  I  leaned  there,  vaguely  glad  the  horrid  business 
was  over,  since  I  found  myself  faint  and  sick.  Afar  off 
I  heard  lugubrious  voices  that  called  one  to  another,  a 
snapping  of  twigs  growing  ever  fainter,  and  a  rustle  of 
leaves  that  marked  their  flight. 

Down  my  cheeks  and  into  my  eyes  a  sticky  moisture 
was  trickling  that  I  knew  was  blood,  but  the  sweet  night 
air  revived  me  greatly  so  that,  my  strength  returning, 
I  presently  stumbled  back  into  the  blackness  of  the 
barn,  found  my  way  to  the  ladder  and  leaned  there 
a  while.  And  after  some  time,  I  lifted  heavy  head  and 
spoke : 
.  "  Diana  —  are  you  there  —  my  Diana  ?  " 

Silence,  and  a  sudden,  sickening  dread,  a  growing  fear, 
insomuch  that  I  made  shift  to  climb  the  ladder  and,  lifting 
heavy  hand,  rapped  upon  the  trap  door: 

"  Diana  —  O  Diana  —  are  you  there?  " 

An  inarticulate  cry,  and  next  moment  the  trap  door 


424  Peregrine's  Progress 

was  lifted,  revealing  a  square  of  vivid  light,  and  in  this 
radiant  glory  —  Diana's  face. 

"Diana,"  said  I,  wiping  the  blood  from  ray  eyes  the 
better  to  behold  her  loveliness,  "  Diana  —  when  will  you 
—  marry  me?  " 

"  O  Peregrine  —  oh,  my  beloved ! " 

And  down  to  me  she  reached  her  strong  and  gentle  arms 
to  draw  me  up  from  the  darkness  into  the  glory  of  her 
presence. 


CHAPTER  IV 

I  WAIT  FOR  A  CONFESSION 

"  O  PEREGRINE  .'    My  dear  —  how  they  have  hurt  you !  " 

She  was  ministering  to  my  scratches  and  abrasions,  and 
I,  sitting  on  the  old  hay-pile,  watched  her,  joying  in  the 
gentle  touch  of  her  white,  dexterous  hands,  her  sweet 
motherliness  and  all  the  warm,  vital  beauty  of  her. 

"  Child,"  said  I,  "  don't  tremble  so  —  the  beasts  are 
gone ! " 

"Yes,  I  know  —  I  heard  everything,  Peregrine.  And 
you  down  there  —  all  alone  —  to  fight  them  in  the  dread- 
ful dark !  And  I  once  dared  to  call  you  coward !  " 

"  So  I  was,  Diana.  So  I  am.  It  was  you  gave  me 
courage,  then  and  now  —  you  and  —  my  love  for  you." 

"Your  love?"  she  whispered,  and  now  the  tremor  was 
in  her  voice  also. 

"  It  was  Love  guided  me  here  to-night,  Diana  —  brought 
me  back  to  you  —  for  ever  and  always  if  —  if  you  will 
have  it  so." 

"  O  Peregrine,"  she  sighed,  leaning  towards  me,  "  my 
Peregrine,  then  your  love  for  me  is  not  dead  as  I  feared  ?  " 

"  Nor  ever  can  be,"  I  answered,  very  conscious  of  her 
nearness,  "  surely  true  love  is  immortal,  Diana." 

"You  speak  rather  like  a  book,  Peregrine." 

"  I  quote  from  your  own  letter,  Diana." 

"  And  this  —  strange  love  of  yours,  Peregrine,  that  I 
feared  dead,  has  come  to  life  again  because  you  know  at 
last  how  cruelly  you  misjudged  me  —  you  are  here  be- 
cause you  have  found  out?  " 

"I  have  found  out  nothing." 

"Then  —  oh  —  why,  then,  you  still  think  evil  of 
me?" 

"  I  love  you ! "  said  I,  leaning  towards  her,  for  she  had 
(drawn  from  me  a  little.  "I  love  you  —  more  than  ever, 


426  Peregrine  s  Progress 

I  think,  yes,  indeed  it  must  be  so  —  because  I  am  here  to 
shield  you  with  my  care  —  to  make  you  my  wife." 

"Wife?  "  she  whispered,  shrinking  yet  farther  from  me. 
'*  Your  wife  ?     You  would  marry  me  in  my  —  vileness  — 
doubting  my  honour?  " 

"  Your  honour  shall  be  mine,  henceforth." 
Now  at  this  she  sat  back  to  regard  me  beneath  wrinkled 
brows ;  once  her  scarlet  mouth  quivered,  though  whether 
she  would  weep  or  no  I  knew  not,  but  before  the  sweet 
directness  of  her  eyes  I  felt  strangely  abashed  and  knew 
again  that  old  consciousness  of  futility. 

"  O  Peregrine,"  she  sighed  at  last,  "  how  very  —  fool- 
ishly blind  you  are,  how  hopelessly  masculine,  and  how 
nobly  generous  —  my  proud  gorgio  gentleman !  "  And 
stooping,  she  caught  my  hand  ere  I  knew  and  kissed  it 
passionately. 

"  O  Diana ! "  I  exclaimed,  very  ill  at  ease.  "  Why  do 
—  so?" 

"Because  —  oh,  my  dear  —  because  you  would  stoop 
to  lift  your  poor,  stained  Diana  from  the  depths  and  cover 
her  shame  with  your  love!  Because,  thinking  me  vile, 
you  would  still  honour  me  with  your  name.  Oh,  my  Pere- 
grine, you  love  me  more  —  much  more  than  I  ever  dared 
hope  —  better  than  even  you  know ! "  And  rising,  she  gave 
herself  to  my  eager  arms. 

"  O  Diana,"  I  murmured,  "  how  wonderful  you  are ! " 
"Last   time   we  met   you   called   me  —  wanton!"   she 
whispered. 

"  I  was  mad !  "  cried  I  remorsefully.     "  And  yet  — 
"  And  yet  —  you  meant  it,  dear  Peregrine !     And  to- 
night I  am  here  upon  your  heart  —  oh,  wonderful  —  kiss 
your  wanton  again  —  " 

"Ah  —  hush !  "  I  pleaded.     "  Don't  —  don't  say  it." 
"Ah,  Peregrine,  beloved  —  don't  think  it!" 
"But  Diana,"  I  groaned,  "oh,  my  Diana,  I  saw  you 
with  —  " 

"  Hush ! "  she  whispered  suddenly.  "  There  is  some- 
body moving  down  below  —  listen !  " 


I  Wait  for  a  Confession        427 

From  the  pitchy  gloom  beneath  came  a  heavy  tread 
and  a  deep,  long-drawn  sigh ;  but  even  so  I  knew  a  happi- 
ness beyond  all  expression  to  feel  how  she  nestled  closer 
into  my  embrace  as  if  seeking  protection  there. 

"Are  you  afraid,  my  Diana?" 

"  Nothing  could  ever  frighten  me  —  here !  "  she  whis- 
pered. And  then  the  place  suddenly  reechoed  with  a  loud 
whinnying. 

"  My  horse  —  I  had  forgotten  him !  "  said  I.  And 
then,  as  she  stirred  sighfully,  I  stooped  and  kissed  her, 
ere,  loosing  her,  I  rose.  "  I  '11  go  and  make  him  comfort- 
able for  the  night." 

"And  I  will  make  you  a  bed,  Peregrine." 

"  It  will  be  like  old  times,"  said  I. 

"  Yes  —  though  we  did  n't  —  kiss  each  other  —  then, 
Peregrine,"  said  she,  looking  at  me  with  a  glory  in  her 
eyes.  "  Ah,  no  —  not  again  —  look  at  the  candle,  it  will 
be  out  in  a  minute  or  two  and  I  haven't  another — • 
so  hurry,  dear." 

Forthwith  I  descended  into  the  dimness  below  and  find- 
ing the  horse,  loosed  off  saddle  and  bridle;  this  done,  I 
closed  the  doors  and  was  making  them  as  secure  as  might 
be  when  I  heard  her  calling : 

"  Be  quick,  Perry,  the  candle  is  going  out ! " 

So  I  climbed  up  the  ladder  and,  drawing  it  after  me, 
closed  the  trap  —  and  as  I  did  so,  the  light  flickered  and 
vanished;  but,  guided  by  her  voice,  I  stumbled  through 
the  dark  and,  finding  the  hay-pile,  lay  down.  And  then, 
all  at  once,  I  began  to  tremble,  for  there  rushed  upon  me 
the  conviction  that,  lying  thus  beside  me  so  near  I  might 
have  touched  her,  yet  hidden  thus  in  the  kindly  dark,  she 
was  nerving  herself  to  the  confession  of  that  which  must 
be  pain  to  speak  and  agony  to  hear;  thus,  tense  and  ex- 
pectant, I  stared  upon  the  gloom,  waiting  —  waiting  for 
her  voice  and  resolved  that  I  would  be  merciful  in  my 
judgment  of  her. 

Thus  moment  after  moment  dragged  by  and  I  in  a 
very  fever  of  anticipation,  waiting  —  listening —  At 


428  Peregrine's  Progress 

last  she  stirred,  but  instead  of  the  broken,  pleading  mur- 
mur I  expected,  I  heard  a  long,  blissful  sigh,  a  rustle  of 
the  hay  as  she  settled  herself  more  cosily,  and  when  she 
spoke  her  voice  sounded  actually  slumberous : 

"Are  you  comfortable,  Peregrine?" 

"Thank  you  —  yes." 

"Yet  you  —  sound  very  restless.     What  is  it,  dear?" 

"  O  Diana  —  have  you  —  nothing  to  —  to  tell  me?  " 

"You  mean  —  to  confess?    No,  dear." 

"Nothing?"  I  groaned. 

"  Only  to  bid  you  not  worry  your  dear,  foolish  head 
over  trifles  —  " 

"  Trifles  ? "  I  gasped,  sitting  up  in  my  amazement. 
"Trifles?" 

"  Silly  trifles ! "  said  she  with  a  strange,  little,  trem- 
ulous laugh.  "  You  came  seeking  me.  You  wish  to  make 
me  your  wife  because  your  love  is  nobler,  greater  than 
you  or  I  ever  dreamed.  And  I  am  yours,  and  we  are  to- 
gether at  last  and  this  —  this  is  all  that  can  possibly 
matter  to  us  —  Fourteen  guineas,  a  florin,  one  groat  and 
three  pennies  —  was  that  so  very  much  to  pay  for  me? 
Do  you  regret  your  purchase?" 

"  No." 

"Then  —  have  faith  in  your  love  for  me,  Peregrine. 
Give  me  your  hand  in  mine  —  this  dear  hand  that  fought 
for  me  and  would  lift  poor  me  out  of  the  shameful  mire. 
And  now,  good  night,  beloved  —  now,  shut  your  eyes ! 
Are  they  closed  ?  " 

"Yes,  Diana." 

"Then  go  to  sleep." 

And  with  this  cool,  soft  hand  clasping  mine,  I  sank  at 
last  into  a  blessed  slumber. 


CHAPTER  V 

IN  WHICH  WE  MEET  OLD  FRIENDS 

MORNING  with  a  glory  of  sun  flooding  in  at  the  small 
aperture  beneath  the  gable  and  through  every  crack  and 
cranny  of  timeworn  roof  and  walls ;  a  glory  to  dazzle  my 
sleepy  eyes  and  fill  me  with  ineffable  gladness,  despite  my 
cuts  and  bruises. 

For  a  moment  I  lay  blinking  drowsily  and  then  started 
to  my  elbow,  my  every  nerve  a-thrill  to  the  sound  of  a 
soft  and  regular  breathing. 

She  lay  within  a  yard  of  me,  half-buried  in  the  hay 
that  clung  about  her  shapeliness ;  and  beholding  her  thus 
in  the  sweet  abandonment  of  slumber,  so  altogether 
unconscious  of  my  nearness,  it  was  with  a  half-guilty 
feeling  that  I  leaned  nearer  to  drink  in  her  loveliness. 

Her  hair  was  disordered,  and  here  and  there  a  stalk  of 
hay  had  ensconced  itself  in  these  silky  ripples,  and  no 
wonder,  for  observing  a  glossy  curl  above  her  ear  I  had 
an  urgent  desire  to  feel  it  twined  about  my  finger,  and 
shifted  my  gaze  to  her  face,  viewing  in  turn  her  cheek 
rosy  with  sleep,  her  dark,  curling  lashes,  her  vivid  lips, 
the  creamy  whiteness  of  her  throat. 

But  —  even  now,  even  as  I  mutely  worshipped  her  thus, 
something  in  the  voluptuous  beauty  of  her  troubled  me. 
Memory  waked,  Imagination  burst  its  shackles  and  began 
its  fell  work : 

Other  eyes  than  mine  had  seen  her  thus  .  .  .  other 
hands  .  .  .  other  lips  .  .  .  Before  me  flashed  a  vision  of 
Devereux's  evil  features  hatefully  triumphant.  And  yet 
.  .  .  Great  God,  was  this  indeed  the  face  of  a  wanton? 
Could  such  horror  possibly  be? 

In  imagination  the  dead  lived  again,  the  past  returned, 
and  through  my  closed  lids  I  saw  Devereux  —  her  "  slave 


43°  Peregrine's  Progress 

and  master**  lean  to  gloat  upon  her  defenceless  beauty, 
bold-eyed  and  on  his  cruel  lips  the  smile  of  a  satyr.  .  .  . 
And  bowing  my  sweating  temples  between  quivering  fists, 
I  ground  my  teeth  in  agony. 

Now  as  I  crouched  thus,  plagued  by  the  obscene  demons 
of  my  imagination,  I  was  aroused  by  a  distant  sound  and 
opening  my  eyes  saw  how  the  sun  touched  Diana's  sleep- 
ing form  like  the  blessing  of  God.  And  yet  .  .  .  what  of 
that  night  at  Raydon  Manor  ?  She  had  volunteered  me  no 
word  of  explanation  —  not  one — and  why? 

Up  to  me,  borne  on  the  sunny  air,  came  the  sound  of  a 
whistle  that  brought  me  to  my  feet  eager  for  action,  for 
conflict  or  death  itself — anything  rather  than  the  har- 
rowing torment  of  my  thoughts.  Very  cautiously  I 
crossed  the  uneven  floor  and  lifting  the  trap  as  silently  as 
possible,  I  set  the  ladder  in  place  and  descended.  The 
whistling  had  stopped,  but  in  its  stead  I  caught  a  sound 
of  stealthy  movement  outside  the  barn,  and  glancing 
about,  I  presently  espied  my  whip  where  I  had  dropped 
it  last  night,  and  with  this  in  my  hand  I  gently  unbarred 
the  doors  and  opening  them  a  little  way,  stepped  out 
into  the  radiant  morning.  And  then,  tossing  aside  my 
whip,  I  ran  forward,  both  hands  extended  in  eager 
greeting. 

"  Why,  Jerry !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  O  Jerry  Jarvis,  you 
come  like  an  angel  of  heaven ! " 

"  Lord ! "  exclaimed  the  Tinker,  grasping  my  hands 
very  hard.  "  Lord  love  you,  Mr.  Vereker  —  *' 

"  Call  me  Perry  as  you  used." 

"Why,  then  —  here's  j'y,  Perry  —  but  as  to  angels, 
who  ever  see  an  angel  in  cord  breeches  —  an*  patched  at 
that!  But  God  bless  us  all  —  what  should  bring  you 
hereabouts  —  " 

"  Love,  Jerry  —  love  —  '* 

"  You  mean  —  Anna?  " 

"  Yes,  we  are  to  be  married  as  soon  as  possible.'* 

"  What,  you  an*  Anna?  " 

"  Who  else,  my  Jeremy  ?  " 


We  Meet  Old  Friends        431 

"  But  she 's  a-breaking  her  'eart  over  summat  or 
other  —  " 

"No,  she's  lying  fast  asleep  in  the  loft  yonder  and 
looking  as  sweet  —  as  good  and  pure  as  —  as  —  " 

"  As  she  is,  Peregrine ! " 

"  Yes,  Jerry.  But  what  are  you  doing  here,  God  bless 
you!" 

"  Did  n't  you  know  as  she  wrote  me  two  days  since  — 
app'inting  me  to  meet  her  here  —  and  here  I  am,  a  bit 
early  p'raps,  but  then  I  thought  she  was  lonely  —  in 
trouble,  d'  ye  see  —  in  trouble.  And  then,  Lord,  if  you 
only  knew  how  hungry  —  aye,  ravenous  I  am  for  sight 
of  her  arter  all  this  time  —  " 

"  Why,  then,  you  shall  see  her  —  at  once." 

"  Nay,  let  her  have  her  sleep  out ;  let 's  you  an*  me  get 
a  fire  going.  I  've  a  frying  pan  in  my  cart  over  yonder  — 
ham  an'  eggs,  lad !  " 

"  God  bless  you  again,  Jerry  —  breakfast !  And  here 
among  the  trees  it  will  be  like  old  times,  though  Jessamy 
ought  to  be  with  us,  of  course." 

"  Well  he  's  over  at  my  little  camp  not  so  far  away. 
I  'm  pitched  t'  other  side  Amberley  wood." 

"  How  is  he,  Jerry?  " 

"Mighty  well.  He's  rich  again,  y*  see — aye,  richer 
than  ever  an'  pursooed  by  several  widders  in  consequence. 
He 's  come  into  a  mort  o'  money,  has  Jessamy.  But  you 
know  all  about  it,  o'  course?" 

"  Not  a  word." 

"Lord,  an'  'twas  your  uncle,  Sir  Jervas,  as  done  it! 
Left  Jess  five  —  thousand  —  pound !  Think  o'  that !  " 

Thus,  talking  like  the  old  friends  we  were,  we  set  about 
collecting  sticks  and  soon  had  the  fire  burning  merrily. 
All  at  once  we  stood  silent  and  motionless,  for  Diana  was 
singing. 

It  was  an  Italian  love  song  full  of  sweet  rippling  notes 
and  trills  but,  as  she  sang  it,  a  very  ecstasy  of  yearning 
tenderness  that  changed  suddenly  to  joy  and  rapturous 
happiness,  her  glorious  voice  ringing  out  full-throated, 


432  Peregrine's  Progress 

rich  and  clear,  inexpressibly  sweet,  swelling  louder  and 
louder  until  suddenly  it  was  gone  and  we  standing  mute 
with  awed  delight. 

"  She  's  a-doin'  her  hair !  "  whispered  Jerry.  "  She  allus 
used  to  sing  in  the  morning  a-doin'  her  hair,  I  mind,  but 
never  —  ah,  never  so  —  wonderfully ! " 

And  then  she  began  again,  this  time  that  Zingari  air 
we  both  remembered  so  well.  Singing  thus,  she  stepped 
out  into  the  sunlight  but,  seeing  us,  stopped  in  the  middle 
of  a  note  and  ran  forward  (even  as  I  had  done)  with  both 
hands  outstretched  in  greeting. 

"  Jerry  ! "  she  cried.    "  My  dear,  good  Jerry  !  " 

But  the  Tinker  drew  back,  a  little  abashed  by  the 
wondrous  change  in  her. 

"  Why,  Ann  —  why,  Anna !  "  he  stammered.  "  Can 
this  be  you  —  so  —  so  beautiful?  Speaks  different  too !  " 

"O  Jerry  dear  —  won't  you  kiss  me?" 

"Glory  be!"  he  exclaimed,  taking  her  outstretched 
hands.  "  Though  so  very  different  't  is  the  same  sweet 
maid  —  't  is  the  very  same  Ann  as  learned  to  read  an* 
write  s'  wonderful  quick  —  Glory  be!"  And  so  they 
kissed  each  other. 

Then  walking  between  us,  busy  with  question  and  an- 
swer, he  brought  us  where  stood  his  weather-beaten,  four- 
wheeled  chaise  with  Diogenes,  that  equine  philosopher, 
cropping  the  grass  as  sedulously  as  though  he  had  never 
left  off  and  who,  lifting  shaggy  head,  snorted  unimpas- 
sioned  greeting  and  promptly  began  to  nibble  again. 

Butter,  a  new  loaf,  ham  and  eggs  and  coffee!  What 
hungry  mortals  could  desire  more?  And  now  the  Tinker 
and  I,  sitting  side  by  side  in  the  leafy  shade,  watched 
our  Diana  who,  scornful  of  all  assistance,  prepared  break- 
fast with  her  own  quick,  capable  hands. 

What  words  are  there  may  adequately  describe  this 
meal?  With  what  appetite  we  ate,  all  three;  how  we 
talked  and  laughed  for  small  reason  or  no  reason  at  all. 

"  Lord,  Ann !  "  exclaimed  the  Tinker,  glancing  from  the 
piece  of  ham  on  his  knife  point  to  Diana's  stately  beauty. 


We  Meet  Old  Friends        433 

"  'T  is  wonderful  what  two  years  can  do !  You  don't  need 
any  book  of  etiquette  these  days  —  you  look  so  proud, 
so  noble  —  aye,  as  any  duchess  in  a  nov-el  or  out !  Lord 
love  you,  Ann,  it  don't  seem  right  any  more  as  you  should 
be  a-drinkin'  coffee  out  of  a  tin  mug  along  of  a  travellin' 
tinker  in  patched  breeches,  that  it  don't !  I  reckon  you  've 
seen  a  lot  o'  the  grand  world  an'  plenty  o'  fine  folk,  eh 
Ann  ?  " 

"  Enough  to  know  the  simpler  joys  are  always  the  best, 
dear  Jerry,  and  to  love  the  Silent  Places  more  than  ever. 
And  as  for  you,  Jerry,  there  never  was  such  a  tinker 
before  —  " 

"  And  never  will  be  again ! "  I  added. 

"  And  so  we  mean  to  stay  with  you  awhile,  don't  we, 
Peregrine?  " 

"  Excellent !  "  said  I.  "  We  will  shift  camp  to  the  old 
place  —  " 

"  The  little  wood  beside  the  stream  beyond  Wyvelstoke," 
said  Diana  softly,  "  that  dear  place  where  Love  found  us 
—  in  the  dawn  —  and  you  clasped  the  little  locket  about 
my  neck,  Peregrine." 

"  Which  you  don't  wear  now,  Diana ! " 

"Which  you  shall  put  back  —  one  day  —  soon,  Pere- 
grine." 

"Why  did  you  take  it  off,  Diana?" 

"  Because !  "  she  answered. 

"Because  of  —  what?"  I  persisted. 

"  Just  —  because !  "  she  answered  in  the  old  tantalising 
way.  And  so  we  sat  a  little  while  looking  into  each  other's 
eyes. 

"  By  Goles !  "  exclaimed  the  Tinker  so  suddenly  that  we 
both  started,  having  clean  forgotten  him  for  a  while. 
"'Tis  good  to  be  young,  but  'tis  better — aye,  much 
better,  to  be  in  love,  that  it  is !  And  —  you  may  be  mighty 
fine  folk  up  to  London,  but  you  '11  always  be  just  children 
to  me  —  my  children  o'  the  woods ! " 

"  And  so,  Jerry,  we  '11  stay  with  you  until  we  are  married 
if  you  '11  have  us?  " 


434  Peregrine's  Progress 

"Have  you?"  he  repeated,  a  little  huskily.  "Have 
you?  Why,  Lord  love  ye —  I  feel  that  proud,  an'  s* 
happy  as  I  don't  know  what  —  only  —  God  bless  ye 
both  —  Amen !"  So  saying,  he  arose  rather  abruptly  and 
hastened  off  to  harness  Diogenes. 

"  Diana,"  said  I,  drawing  her  to  me,  "  Diana,  what  do 
you  mean  by  *  because '  ?  "  And  standing  submissive  in 
the  circle  of  my  arms  she  answered: 

"Because  you  love  me  so  truly,  Peregrine,  doubt  can- 
not make  you  love  me  less.  But  because  of  your  doubt  I 
have  grieved,  and  because  I  grieved  I  ran  away,  and  be- 
cause I  ran  away  you  came  to  find  me,  and  because  of  this 
I  am  happy.  But  because  I  am  —  a  little  proud  also,  I 
will  not  wear  your  love-token  until  you  know  how  unjust 
are  your  doubts,  and  because  I  am  a  woman  you  shall  not 
know  this  until  I  choose.  But  because  I  love  you  in  spite  of 
your  doubts  as  you  love  me  because  you  are  so  nobly 
generous,  I  am  yours  for  ever  and  ever.  So  here's  the 
answer  —  here's  the  meaning  of  *  because'  and  now  — 
won't  you  kiss  me,  Peregrine?" 

Thus  stood  we  awhile  amid  the  whispering  leaves,  and 
by  the  touch  of  her  mouth  doubt  and  heaviness  were  lifted 
from  me.  Then  hand  in  hand  she  brought  me  where  we 
might  behold  the  barn,  no  longer  a  place  of  evil,  gloomy 
and  sinister,  but  transformed  by  the  kindly  sun  into  a 
place  of  beauty,  dignified  by  age. 

"  Good-bye,  old  barn !  "  she  whispered.  "  Look,  Pere- 
grine, it  is  so  very,  very  old,  and  cannot  last  much  longer 
• — and  I  love  it  because  it  was  there  my  man  fought 
for  me;  it  was  there  he  showed  me  how  truly  gen- 
erous, how  wonderful  is  his  love  for  me  —  O  Peregrine, 
my  gorgio  gentleman,  what  a  man  you  are!  Good-bye, 
old  barn !  "  she  whispered.  "  Good-bye !  " 

And  when  I  had  led  forth  my  post  horse  and  tethered 
him  behind  the  four-wheeled  cart,  we  clambered  in  all  three, 
Diana  sitting  close  beside  me  so  that  the  kindly  wind  ever 
and  anon  would  blow  a  tress  of  her  fragrant  hair  across 
my  lips  to  be  kissed. 


We  Meet  Old  Friends         435 

And  so  the  dead  went  back  to  his  grave  and  my  demons 
fled  awhile. 

"  Perry,"  said  the  Tinker  as,  turning  from  the  high- 
way, Diogenes  ambled  down  a  narrow  lane,  "  you  've  for- 
got to  ask  about  this  here  watch  o'  mine." 

"  Well,  how  is  it,  Jerry  ?  " 

"  Never  was  such  a  watch !  Look  at  it !  Reg*lar  as  the 
sun!  Which  riles  Jessamy.  Y'  see,  his  ain't  to  be  de- 
pended on  nowadays,  owing  to  a  boot  —  " 

"  A  boot,  Jerry?  "  laughed  Diana. 

"At  Maidstone  Fair,  Ann!  Jessamy  was  preachin* 
Brotherly  Love  when  a  large  cove  in  a  white  'at  up  an* 
kicked  him  in  the  watch,  which  is  apt  to  be  a  little  un- 
settlin'  to  any  timepiece.  Anyhow,  Jessamy's  has  never 
gone  right  since." 

"His  watch  again!"  cried  I.  "Last  time  the  trouble 
was  a  brick,  I  remember." 

"  But  Jerry,  what  happened  to  the  '  cove '  in  the  white 
hat  ?  "  enquired  Diana. 

"  Well,  arter  it  was  all  over,  Jessamy  took  him  aside 
into  a  quiet  corner  an'  they  prayed  together." 

"Jessamy  was  always  a  forceful  evangelist!"  she 
laughed. 

"  And  there  he  is." 

"Where?  "  questioned  Diana. 

"  Listen  and  you  '11  hear  him,  Ann ! "  Sure  enough  from 
the  boskages  adjacent  came  the  ring  and  tap  of  a  hammer 
to  the  accompaniment  of  a  rich,  sweet  voice  unpraised  in 
song. 

Hereupon,  setting  two  slim,  white  fingers  to  her  mouth, 
Diana  whistled  loud  and  shrilly,  to  the  Tinker's  no  small 
delight.  Ensued  a  prodigious  rustling  and  snapping  of 
twigs  and  into  the  lane  sprang  the  slender,  shapely  figure 
of  Jessamy  himself,  as  bright  of  eye,  as  light  and  quick 
of  foot  as  ever. 

I  will  not  dilate  upon  this  second  meeting,  but  it  was 
good  to  feel  the  hearty  grip  of  his  fingers,  to  hear  the  glad 
welcome  in  his  voice,  to  see  how  gallantly  he  stooped  to 


43 6  Peregrine's  Progress 

kiss  Diana's  hand,  and  how  his  sun-tanned  cheek  flushed 
beneath  the  touch  of  her  lips. 

"  Why,  Anna !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Well,  well  —  you  ha* 
become  so  —  so  —  you  look  so  uncommon  —  what  I  mean 
is  —  " 

"Beautiful!"  said  the  Tinker.  "  Be-autiful's  the 
word,  Jess ! " 

"Aye,  aye,  shipmate,  so  it  is,  comrade!" 

"  And  the  next  word  is  strike  camp,  Jessamy,  up  stick 
an'  away,  Jess  —  " 

"  We  're  going  to  the  old  place,  Jessamy ! "  nodded 
Diana. 

"Where  you  instructed  me  in  the  *  noble  art,'  Jessamy !" 
said  I. 

"  So  it 's  all  together  and  with  a  will,  Jess !  "  added  the 
Tinker. 

"  Aye,  aye  —  and  heartily !  "  laughed  Jessamy. 

I  will  pass  over  the  labour  of  the  ensuing  hours  wherein 
we  all  wrought  cheerfully ;  but  evening  found  us  camped 
within  that  oft-remembered  wood  beside  the  stream  whose 
murmurous  waters  seemed  to  find  a  voice  to  welcome  us. 


CHAPTER  VI 

WHICH,   AS  THE   PATIENT   EEADEK  SEES,  IS  THE  LAST 

THE  Tinker  stood  resplendent  in  brass-buttoned  coat  of 
bottle  green  which,  if  a  little  threadbare  at  the  seams, 
made  up  for  this  by  the  astonishing  size  and  sheen  of  its 
buttons. 

At  this  precise  moment  (I  remember)  he  was  engaged 
in  brushing  it  vigorously,  pausing  between  whiles  to  pick 
carefully  at  certain  refractory  blemishes,  to  give  an  extra 
polish  to  some  particular  button,  or  consult  the  never- 
failing  watch,  for  to-day  Diana  and  I  were  to  be  married. 

"  By  Goles,  Peregrine,  it  's  past  twelve  o'clock  already ! " 
he  ej  aculated.  "  They  ought  to  be  here  soon  and  —  " 

He  checked  suddenly  and  stood  hushed  and  mute,  for 
Jessamy  had  appeared,  —  a  glorified  Jessamy,  resplend- 
ent from  top  to  toe;  his  boots  shone  superbly,  his  coat 
sat  on  him  with  scarce  a  wrinkle,  but  his  chief  glory 
was  his  shirt,  prodigiously  beruffled  at  wrists  and  bosom. 

The  Tinker  eyed  these  noble  adornments  in  undis- 
guised admiration. 

"  Lord,  Jessamy ! "  he  exclaimed.     "  Lord,  Jess  !  " 

At  this,  Jessamy's  diffidence  vanished  and  coming  to 
the  little  mirror  that  hung  against  an  adjacent  tree,  he 
scanned  his  reflection  with  an  appreciative  eye. 

"  Aye,  aye,  Jerry,"  quoth  he,  "  when  I  wears  a  frilled 
shirt  —  which  ain't  often,  as  you  know,  Jeremy  —  I  wears 
one  with  —  frills  !  " 

"  Jerry,  dear  —  O  Jerry ! "  called  Diana  from  the 
dingy  tent. 

"  Yes,  Anna ! " 

"  I  want  you  to  come  and  hook  up  my  dress ! " 

"  Lord,  Anna !     To  do  what?  " 

"  Hook  up  my  dress  for  me." 

"But  —  Ann  —  " 


438  Peregrine's  Progress 

"  I  can't  possibly  do  it  myself,  so  come  at  once,  there  *s 
a  dear!" 

"  Won't  Perry  do,  Ann?  " 

"  Certainly  not ! " 

"  But  I  never  hooked  up  a  lady  in  my  life,  Ann ! " 

"  Then  you  're  going  to  hook  up  this  lady  now.  So 
come  at  once  and  don't  be  silly ! " 

"  Why,  very  well,  Ann  !  But  if  I  do  it  up  all  wrong  an' 
sp'ile  ye  —  don't  blame  me,  that 's  all !  "  Saying  which,  he 
disappeared  into  the  dingy  tent,  leaving  me  to  survey  my- 
self in  the  small  mirror  and  find  fault  with  my  every 
feature  and  so  much  as  I  could  see  of  my  attire,  while 
Jessamy  hovered  near,  eyeing  me  a  little  anxiously. 

"  You  don't  feel  anywise  groggy  or  —  shaky  o'  your 
pins,  do  ye,  Perry?  "  he  enquired  solicitously. 

"  Not  yet,  Jessamy." 

"  Why,  very  good,  brother !  But  if  so  be  you  should 
feel  it  comin*  on,  jest  tip  me  the  office  —  I  Ve  a  lemon  in 
my  pocket.  There's  some,  being  groggy,  as  nat'rally 
turns  to  a  sup  o*  rum  or  brandy,  but  the  best  thing  as  I 
knows  on  to  pull  a  man  together  is  a  squeeze  o'  lemon  and 
• —  here  comes  the  rest  o'  your  backers  —  hark !  " 

The  crack  of  a  whip,  a  jingle  of  bits  and  curb-chains 
coming  rapidly  nearer,  and  then  the  air  rang  with  a  cheery 
"view  hallo!" 

A  rustle  of  petticoats  and  Diana  was  beside  me,  a 
radiant  vision  in  the  gown  she  could  not  hook  up  for  her- 
self, and  side  by  side,  we  went  to  meet  our  guests,  and 
thus  beheld  a  coach-and-four  galloping  along  the  lane,  the 
sedate  Atkinson  seated  in  the  rumble  and  upon  the 
box  the  tall,  athletic  form  of  Anthony,  flourishing  his  whip 
in  joyous  salutation,  a  cheery,  glad-eyed  Anthony;  and 
beholding  her  who  sat  so  close  beside  him,  I  understood 
this  so  great  change  in  him.  Reining  up  in  masterly 
fashion,  he  sprang  lightly  to  earth  and  taking  his  wife  in 
powerful  arms,  lifted  her  down,  pausing  to  kiss  her  in  mid- 
air, and  then  she  had  run  forward  to  clasp  Diana  in  eager 
embrace. 


Which  is  the  Last  439 

"  Begad,  Perry,  old  fellow,  all 's  well  at  last,  eh?  "  ex- 
claimed Anthony,  grasping  my  hand.  "  What  I  mean  to 
say  is  —  will  ye  look  at  'em,  begad !  Did  mortal  eyes  ever 
see  so  much  dooced  loveliness  and  beauty  begad?  What 
I  say  is  no  —  damme  if  they  did !  And  here 's  his  lordship 
to  say  as  much." 

"  Ah,  Peregrine,"  said  the  Earl,  limping  forward,  "  if 
this  is  a  happy  day  for  you,  to  me  it  is  no  less  so.  How 
say  you,  friend  Jarvis  —  and  you,  Jessamy  Todd?" 

"  Peregrine,"  said  Barbara,  as  we  came  within  sight  of 
the  dingy  tent,  "  has  she  told  you  —  has  Diana  told  you 
how  nobly  she  stood  my  friend  and  at  what  cruel  cost  — 
has  she  ?  " 

"  Not  a  word !  "  said  I,  beginning  to  tremble. 

"  Ah  —  that  was  so  like  you,  Di  —  so  very  like  you,  my 
brave,  dear  girl." 

"  There  was  no  need,  Barbara.  Peregrine's  love  is  such 
that — though  he  doubted,  being  human  —  he  loved  me 
still!" 

"  Then  I  '11  tell  him  —  here  and  now !  No,  over  yonder 
by  the  brook.  And  you,  Tony  —  Anthony  dear,  you  must 
come  and  help  me." 

"  Yes,  tell  him,  Barbara,"  quoth  his  lordship ;  "  tell  him, 
as  you  told  me,  that  Peregrine  may  know  how  brave  and 
generous  is  she  who  honours  him  to-day." 

And  so,  with  Barbara's  hand  on  one  arm  and  Anthony's 
on  the  other,  I  came  to  that  leafy  bower  beside  the  stream 
where  I  had  known  Diana's  first  kiss. 

"  You  will  remember,"  began  Barbara,  seated  between 
as,  "  you  will  remember,  Peregrine,  how,  when  first  we  met, 
I  was  with  Captain  Danby?  I  fled  with  him  to  escape  a 
worse  man,  I  mean  Sir  Geoffrey  Devereux  or  Haredale,  as 
his  power  somehow,  for  even  while  I  was  at  school  he  gave 
me  to  understand  it  was  his  wish  I  should  marry  his  friend 
Haredale.  I  was  very  young,  my  mother  long  dead,  and 
flattered  by  the  attentions  of  a  man  so  much  older  than 
myself,  I  wrote  him  letters  —  silly,  girlish  letters  very  full 
of  romantic  nonsense — Anthony  has  seen  them.  But  the 


44°  Peregrine's  Progress 

oftener  I  met  Sir  Geoffrey,  the  less  I  liked  him,  until  my 
feeling  changed  to  dread.  Captain  Danby,  seeing  this, 
offered  his  help,  and  deceiving  his  friend  would  have  de- 
ceived me  also,  as  you  will  remember  —  " 

"  Damned  scoundrel!"  snorted  Anthony. 

"It  was  while  in  Italy  with  Diana  —  Anthony  had  just 
left  me — that  I  met  Sir  Geoffrey  again.  He  dared  to  make 
love  to  me  and  when  I  repulsed  him,  threatened  to  show 
my  silly  letters  to  Anthony.  Then,  thank  God,  we  came 
home!  But  he  followed  and  upon  the  night  of  the  recep- 
tion sent  Captain  Danby  to  me  at  Lord  Wyvelstoke's 
house  with  a  letter  —  " 

"  Ah  —  it  was  your  letter?  "  I  exclaimed. 

"Yes,  Peregrine — a  dreadful  letter,  repeating  his 
threat  that  unless  I  went  to  his  chambers  that  very  hour 
he  would  send  Anthony  the  letters  —  and  I  knew  —  I 
knew  that  if  my  Anthony  ever  saw  them,  he  would  fight  Sir 
Geoffrey  and  be  killed  —  " 

"  Not  alone  though,  Loveliness !  "  said  .  Anthony,  be- 
tween shut  teeth. 

"  In  my  dread  I  confided  in  Diana — " 

"  And  she  —  went  with  you,"  said  I  hoarsely,  "  in  — 
Danby's  chaise ! " 

"  Yes.  When  Sir  Geoffrey  saw  Diana  she  seemed  to 
fascinate  him  —  he  refused  to  give  up  my  letters  —  said 
he  could  not  part  with  them.  In  this  way  he  tortured  me  for 
weeks  until  at  last  he  wrote  from  Raydon  Manor,  saying 
I  should  have  the  letters  if  I  would  call  for  them  in  person, 
but  it  must  be  at  ten  o'clock  at  night  —  and  Diana  must 
go  with  me.  So  we  went  —  there  were  other  men  there  — 
they  had  been  drinking.  When  we  entered  the  room,  Cap- 
tain Danby  locked  the  door  —  I  nearly  swooned  with 
horror  —  " 

"  Ah,  my  God ! "  exclaimed  Anthony. 

"  But  then  —  O  Peregrine  —  before  any  one  could  move 
or  prevent  —  Diana  sprang  upon  Sir  Geoffrey — I  saw 
the  flash  of  steel,  and  he  lay  back  helpless  in  his  chair, 
staring  up  at  her  —  not  daring  to  move,  her  dagger  prick- 


Which  is  the  Last  441 

ing  his  throat  —  yes  —  I  saw  the  blood !  *  Sir  Geoffrey,* 
said  she  in  an  awful,  whispering  voice,  *  give  up  the  letters 
and  order  them  to  open  the  door,  or  I  will  surely  kill  you ' 

—  and  I  saw  him  flinch  as  the  dagger  bit  deeper.     But  he 
laughed  and  obeyed  her,  and  so  with  the  letters  in  my 
hand,  Diana  led  me  out  of  the  room  and  none  offered  to 
hinder  us.     We  had  been  admitted  at  the  door  that  gave 
into  the  wood  and  we  had  just  opened  it  when  some  one 
among  the  trees  groaned,  and  afraid  of  being  seen,  we 
locked  the  door  and  ran  back  to  the  house  and  asked  Sir 
Geoffrey  for   a   carriage.      And   then  —  Captain   Danby 
hurried  into  the  room,  saying  you  and  Anthony  were  out- 
side—  in  the  hall.    Then  we  fled  into  Sir  Geoffrey's  study 
and  —  I  think  that  is  all?  " 

"  Yes  ! "  said  I  dully.     "  That  is  all ! " 

"  And  enough  for  one  lifetime !  "  added  Anthony.  "  No 
more  secrets,  Loveliness ! " 

"  Never  any  more,  dear  Anthony,  though  it  was  all  for 
you  that  I  suffered,  and  Diana  —  my  dear,  dear  Diana  — - 
kept  silence  and  allowed  you  to  think  —  to  —  " 

"  God  forgive  me ! "  I  groaned. 

;'  I  was  n't  worth  it,  Babs !  "  exclaimed  Anthony,  kissing 
her ;  and  then  his  hand  was  upon  my  shoulder. 

"What  now,  old  fellow?" 

"  O  Anthony,  was  there  ever  such  a  blind  fool?  Was 
ever  angel  of  God  so  cruelly  misjudged?  My  noble 
Diana ! "  Hardly  knowing  what  I  did,  I  turned  and  began 
to  stumble  along  beside  the  brook,  conscious  only  of  my 
most  bitter  remorse.  And  then  a  hand  clasped  mine,  and 
turning  to^ie  touch  of  these  warm,  vital  fingers,  "  Diana," 
said  I,  "  O^iana  —  " 

"You  know  —  at  last,  Peregrine?" 

"  I  know  that  I  dared  to  think  you  unworthy  —  doubted 
your  sweet  purity  —  called  you  —  wanton.  And  I  —  mis- 
erable fool  —  in  my  prideful  folly  dreamed  that  in  marry- 
ing you  —  mine  was  the  sacrifice?  Oh,  I  am  not  fit  to  live 

—  Diana  —  O  Diana,  can  you  forgive  me?  —  All  my  life 
I  have  been  a  failure ! " 


44 2  Peregrine's  Progress 

"Dear  love,  hush —  oh,  hush!"  she  sighed  in  weeping 
voice.  But  in  the  extremity  of  my  self-abasement,  I  knelt 
to  kiss  her  hands,  the  hem  of  her  dress,  her  slender,  pretty 
feet.  "  Peregrine  dear,  your  —  your  mistake  was  very  nat- 
ural ;  you  saw  me  —  at  Raydon  Manor  —  " 

"  I  should  have  disbelieved  my  eyes !  " 

"  And  I  could  not  explain  for  Anthony  and  Barbara's 
sakes.  And  when  I  could  have  explained  I  would  not,  be- 
cause I  wished  you  to  —  yes,  dear  —  to  suffer  —  just  a 
little  —  and  because  I  wished  to  see  if  you  were  brave 
enough  to  forgive  your  Diana  —  lift  her  from  shame  and 
dishonour  to  —  to  the  secure  haven  of  —  your  love.  And 
you  were  brave  enough  and  —  now,  oh,  now  I  'm  crying  — 
and  I  hate  to  cry,  Perry  —  but  it 's  only  because  I  do  love 
you  so  much  more  than  I  can  ever  say  —  so  don't  —  don't 
kneel  to  me,  beloved  —  come  to  my  heart ! " 

So  she  stooped  and  raised  me  to  the  comfort  of  her 
gentle  arms,  to  the  haven  of  her  fragrant  mouth. 

And  thus  the  dead  was  buried  at  last,  mountains  deep, 
and  my  hateful  demons  vanished  utterly  away  for  ever 
and  for  ever. 

"  You  would  always  have  been  mine,  Diana !  " 

"  And  so  it  is  I  love  you,  Peregrine !  And  so  it  is  I  am 
yearning  to  be  your  wife  —  and  yet  here  we  stay  and  our 
guests  all  gone  —  " 

"Gone?"  I  exclaimed. 

"  I  told  them  we  would  follow  —  in  Jerry's  cart.  Shall 
you  mind  riding  to  your  wedding  in  a  tinker's  cart,  dear?  " 

"  My  wise  Diana,  I  love  its  every  spoke  and  timber  for 
your  sake,  so  could  there  never  be  any  other  chariot  of  any 
age,  on  four  wheels  or  two,  so  proper  to  bear  us  to  our 
happiness,  my  clever  Gipsy-Lady.  Come,  dear,  hurry  — 
for  I  am  longing,  aching  to  hear  you  call  me  *  husband.'  * 

"  And  are  my  eyes  —  very  red,  Perry  ?  " 

"Yes  —  no  —  what  matter?  They  are  lovelier  than 
ever  they  were  —  my  jewels  —  let  me  kiss  them!" 

"And  now  —  this,  dear  heart!"  said  she  a  little  tremu- 
lously, and  laid  the  gold  locket  in  my  hand:  and  kneeling 


Which  is  the  Last  443 

beside  this  chuckling  stream  as  we  had  done  once  before, 
I  clasped  it  about  her  white  throat  and  kissed  her  until  she 
bade  me  (a  little  breathlessly)  to  remember  our  waiting 
guests. 

And  thus  at  last,  sitting  with  Diana's  hand  in  mine,  be- 
hind Diogenes,  that  four-footed  philosopher,  we  rattled, 
creaked,  and  jolted  away  to  our  new  life  and  all  that  the 
future  held  for  us. 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

405  Hilgard  Avenue,  Los  Angeles,  CA  90024-1388 

Return  this  material  to  the  library 

from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


NON-RENEWABLE 

APR  i  5  1961 
>.JFROM  DATtf  RECEIVED 


000  137  534 


